


Hopeless Haze - Volume I: Hot Fuss

by thesunisgone



Series: Hopeless Haze [1]
Category: The Killers (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Complete, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Smoking, smut in chapters 5 and 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunisgone/pseuds/thesunisgone
Summary: It was then and there-standing in a dark hotel hallway at four A.M.-when Ronnie Vannucci realized he had it bad for Brandon Flowers.Originally posted on Wattpad under the username thesunisgone.





	Hopeless Haze - Volume I: Hot Fuss

 

**Chapter I: _Stupid on the Streets of London_**

  
  
Brandon was nervous. He sat restless in his dreadfully uncomfortable airport chair, trying to calm himself down by humming a Morrissey song. That always seemed to help whenever he felt scared or anxious about something. He looked to his left to see his bandmate, Dave, nodding his head along to some song in his headphones that Brandon could faintly hear due to the volume of the music. Dave didn't seem too phased by the situation at hand, which kind of made Brandon feel better, but not by much. Across from him sat Mark, who seemed to be incredibly interested in the book he was reading. Mark wasn't very expressive, but he could tell he liked the book because he was reading it the whole cab ride to the airport. Next to Mark sat a snoring Ronnie, whose mouth hung slightly agape. Brandon gave a small smile to the sight of his band’s sleeping drummer, who seemed to be drooling on himself. Brandon snapped out of his hopeless haze when Dave nudged him on the arm.

“You okay, Bran?” Dave asked with a concerned look on his face.

Brandon stared at Dave for a moment, half because he was still so afraid of his oncoming flight to London, and half because he wasn’t used to Dave being so compassionate. “Hm? Oh, I’m fine. Don't worry about me. You should not be worrying about me. I am completely, one hundred percent, A-okay. In fact-”

“He’s nervous about the trip,” said Mark, not looking up from his book. Brandon’s head jerked in Mark’s direction when the usually quiet man spoke. He had been exposed. When the young man looked back to his left, he noticed Dave’s raised eyebrows.

“This…” Brandon paused, trying to think of a good lie. “This is not true.”

“Brandon,” a new voice added in. “This is the reason you were a bellboy and not a professional gambler. You can't lie for shit.” Oh, Ronald was awake now. Brandon was about to reply when a woman on the intercom spoke.

“International flight two-nineteen, Las Vegas to London, will be boarding in thirty minutes.”

All eyes turned to Brandon as he took a sudden intake of air. Ronnie took this as a cue to try to either calm the boy down or change the subject. “Brando,” he started. “Have you had anything to eat today? Maybe a bottle of water or something?”

Brandon replied quickly, “I have had five cans of coke.” Dave muttered something under his breath and put his head in his hands, letting out a long sigh.

“How about I take you to get a bottle then? You must be thirsty.” Brandon did not want to move from the spot he was currently sitting in. He didn't want to be any closer to the plane that he was certain he would die inside in approximately forty-five minutes. But he was thirsty and he would be alone with Ronnie, so what more could he possibly lose. Brandon flashed Ronnie a quick, not-so-reassuring smile, stood from his incredibly uncomfortable plastic chair, and followed the older man out of the waiting area that Brandon liked to call his own personal purgatory.

Brandon knew that thousands of people flew around the world every day and were fine. Brandon knew that planes were said to be safer than cars. But that does not mean that he can just waltz into an airport and hop in his shitty third class seat and not worry about dying in a fiery crash or drowning out at sea.

Brandon did not understand how Ronnie could be so calm in the situation at hand. Dave was understandably calm since he was actually from Iowa and Brandon doubted that Dave would bother to drive the long road to Nevada. Then again, he also didn't seem like the kind of person to just throw out the money to take a plane. It was at this point that Brandon realized he hardly knew anything about Dave other than the fact that he was from Iowa and a few other random things, like his favorite movies. Brandon also assumed that Mark had been in a plane before because the tall man was from Texas. That made sense. The only thing that Brandon knew for sure was that none of them had ever left the country.

After a quick and silent walk to closest place that sold bottled water, Ronnie and Brandon returned to the terrible plastic chairs where their other two bandmates sat. Brandon simply listened to the chatter of his other friends while he slowly sipped on his overpriced water and fiddled with the cap in his hand.

“International flight two-nineteen, Las Vegas to London, will be boarding in ten minutes.”

If the waiting area was purgatory, Brandon was sure he was in hell now.

“Well!” Dave exclaimed with a slap of the knee, “That’s us!” The guitarist stood and grabbed his duffle bag from the seat next his own, which made Brandon jump in surprise due to the bag’s loud contents.

“What’s in that thing?” Brandon shrieked, “Broken glass?” Dave shot Brandon a cheeky smile and jiggled the bag once more, making it jingle like bells.

“That, dear Bran, is a secret.” He pulled the bag’s strap around his neck.

“I didn't know they allow broken glass on planes.” Ronnie stated simply, also picking up his bag. Ronnie then noticed that Brandon was still sitting in his seat, his long fingers spread across his face in shock. “C’mon Brando,” Ron said, grabbing the younger man’s wrist and leading him closer to the terminal. “It’s all good.”

“No, Ronald,” Brandon said in a monotonous voice. “I can't. I physically can't.” Ronnie grinned, he had a plan.

“I can help with that,” Ronnie turned and winked back at Dave and Mark, who gazed at him suspiciously. Ronnie grabbed Brandon around the waist, and much to Brandon’s protest, began to carry him to the terminal. Ronnie then shifted Brandon’s position to that of one a husband would carry his newlywed wife, so Brandon instinctively put his arms around Ronnie’s neck. Brandon immediately became very flustered, but after attempting to kick Ronnie for a couple seconds (which he failed to do because he had such short legs) he tired himself out and let Ronnie carry him to his impending doom. He nuzzled his head into Ronnie’s chest, trying to hide from the plane. As the band walked to what Brandon considered his impending doom, Ronnie and the frightened man caught a couple of stares. Brandon didn’t see any of these considering his head was burrowed in the drummer’s chest; and if Ronnie saw any he showed no notice to the judgemental travelers at the airport.

Brandon’s fate could not be avoided. The four friends eventually made it to the ticket booth; Mark and Dave got through fine, but the woman standing at the booth raised a brow at the sight of the two men.

“Tickets please,” she stated simply after deciding not to comment on the obvious and a moment of hesitation. Ronnie flashed the dark-haired woman a smile and handed her the ticket which he already had prepared in his hand. The woman scanned the ticket but did not let Ronnie pass. “What about him?” She questioned.

“Who, Bran Flakes here? He’s tired.” Ronnie responded, not seeing a problem with his current situation.

The woman sighed, “he needs a ticket.”

“Oh!” the drummer exclaimed before looking down to the small singer in his arms and whispering, “Brando, where’s your ticket?”

Brandon humphed and responded lazily, “back pocket.”

Brandon shut his eyes again and tried to ignore the rest of the world. He suddenly wished it was the 1970’s so the he could smoke on the plane and try to relax; Brandon then realized that he could die and that it was banned for a reason, so he settled on finding a drink on the plane instead.

Ronnie grimaced and shifted Brandon’s weight to one side, then slid his hand down Brandon’s pants until he found the pocket, and more importantly, the ticket. As he grabbed the ticket he purposely gave Brandon’s ass a squeeze then handed it to the ticket woman, who didn’t seem to notice what had just happened. She wordlessly scanned the ticket before letting Ronnie pass.

As he walked down the tunnel, Ronnie decided to break the silence. “Brandon,” he said. “You do realize I can’t carry you into the plane, right? You have to actually do that part yourself.” Brandon whined but made no attempt to leave Ronnie’s grasp. Ronnie stopped in his tracks, “I'm serious, Brando. You gotta let Papa Vannucci go.”

Ronnie’s phrasing must have done the trick because when he uttered those words Brandon made a noise of disgust and promptly jumped out of Ronnie’s arms. The two men continued the rest of the walk to the plane in silence, but the atmosphere around them was tense. Ronnie led Brandon to their seats and proceeded to put their bags in the overhead bin. Once he was done, the drummer noticed Brandon was fearfully sitting in the window seat. “Do you wanna switch?” He asked. Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. After a moment of indecisiveness, the man shook his head; he felt so terrible that even moving to change seats might of been too much for him to handle. Ronnie shrugged and sat next to Brandon in the middle seat, hoping that the man in the isle wouldn’t arrive so that he and the younger man could have the row alone—his wish came true.

After a long while of them sitting in silence, it was announced that the plane would be taking off momentarily. Brandon wanted to die. As the plane jolted forward and began to accelerate down the runway, many thoughts ran through Brandon Flowers’ head. Would he even make it to London? Would he drown in the sea without anyone ever knowing his name? Would he ever get married? Would he live to have children? It was then and there that Brandon decided he didn’t want to be famous for being dead. When the plane began to ascend into the air, he went to grab the armrest between Ronnie and himself, but he didn’t realize that Ronnie’s arm already occupied that space. Brandon ended up grabbing his band mate's hand and he held on for dear life. To comfort the man, Ronnie squeezed back.

Despite every fabric of Brandon’s being telling him not to look out the window, he did. He stared out the window and became awestruck looking at the American horizon. In the distance he saw his beloved city of Las Vegas, and even further past that, Brandon saw mountains waiting for him past the desert range. For some reason that he could not understand, some of Brandon’s anxiety vanished- but not for long.

One hour into their ten hour flight, Brandon was still nervous. He had been tapping his index finger against his knee for what seemed like an eternity Ronnie pitied the synth player and after ten minutes of deep contemplation, Ronnie had a plan.

“Hey,” he said softly to Brandon, catching his attention. “I’ll be back in a second, okay? I won’t be long.” Brandon ceased his tapping for a moment before nodding and continuing his habit. Brandon’s empty gaze returned to the chair in front of him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ronnie stand and leave for the front of the plane. After a few minutes, Ronnie arrived back to his seat with a brown paper bag.

“What's that, Ron?” Brandon asked, voice a little hoarse due to lack of use.

“The solution to your problem.” Ronnie replied, pulling the sack’s contents out and revealing a half-bottle of red wine. “There’s about three glasses in here, so hopefully you’ll just get tipsy and fall asleep.” He said, handing the glass bottle to Brandon. “You never had that much of a tolerance to alcohol though, so be careful. I don't want you to get shitfaced and wake up with a killer headache.”

Brandon awkwardly held the fancy bottle in his hand, “you want me to drink all of this? Alone?”

“Well I didn't wanna go straight for the vodka.” Ronnie explained, but Brandon was still skeptical.

“What if I wake up before we land?” He asked, holding the bottle to his face so that he could read the label.

“You and I both know that you didn’t sleep at all last night, Bran. I highly doubt you’ll wake up before we arrive.” Brandon’s cheeks flushed with color, so he decided to change the subject.

“Red wine?”

“It does the deed faster.” Ronnie said, not breaking eye contact with his younger friend. “I’m trying to help you, Brandon. I want to make you feel better.” Brandon arched a brow before carefully popping off the bottle’s cork.

“What the hell, then. It’s worth a try.” Brandon took a swig of the wine and leaned back slightly in his seat, relaxing his tense body. Within an hour, he became tipsy enough to forget his current plight and after another thirty minutes (which Brandon spent most of sleepily giggling at Ronnie) he dozed off with a slight smile on his face, finally at peace.

Luckily, Brandon didn’t wake up until Ronnie gave a light shove to his shoulder. The singer looked around groggily before turning his gaze to the window next to him. Outside the plane, it was pitch-black save for the lampposts lining cobblestone streets in the distance and the runway lights. Brandon then glanced to his red wristwatch to check the time: ten o’clock; that didn’t seem right. Thankfully, Ronnie spared Brandon from any further confusion by explaining the situation.

“The watch is wrong,” he said, grabbing his and Brandon’s bags from the overhead bin. “We went ahead five hours- it’s really three in the morning.” Ronnie placed the bags in the vacant seat in the middle of the row and unzipped the one belonging to Brandon, then put the unfinished bottle of wine between a few layers of the younger man’s clothes. Brandon unbuckled his seatbelt and stood for what felt like the first time in days; he stretched his arms and felt refreshed, if not a little tipsy. “Now what?” he asked.

Ronnie yawned, “check in at the hotel, sleep-” he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder “C’mon, kid. Get your stuff and let’s go.” Brandon shrugged and put on his messenger bag, taking a moment to fiddle with the strap so that it laid flat across his chest; he then looked to Ronnie, ready to follow him out of the metal death trap. It was incredibly hectic, but the friends managed to make it out in one piece and found their other two band mates at the bag retrieval area. The feat was wasn’t very hard considering that both Dave and Mark were well over six feet tall. After waiting for about twenty minutes (which consisted of a wide awake Brandon trying to start a conversation between his three older friends; he failed miserably, though, because said friends were tired) they found all of their gear and suitcases. Dave volunteered to find a payphone so they could call a cab, but Ronnie went instead because he knew Dave was tired and he didn’t want the guitarist to go off on the poor man that would happen to answer his call. This left Brandon alone with Dave and Mark; despite his somewhat excessive attempts at small talk Brandon still couldn’t get more than a couple of words out of the men. Eventually Ronnie returned and broke the silence, “It’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

Dave threw his head back and groaned, “that’s so long.”  He drew a long sigh before continuing, “let’s go outside and wait, then. I could use some fresh air.” Dave picked up his duffle bag (which Brandon heard jingle again) and guitar case then headed for the door. Brandon followed the man’s example by grabbing his own instrument case and stuck close to Ronnie on the long walk to the exit.

“You know…” Brandon whispered to Ronnie. “We should do something fun.” Ronnie shot Brandon a confused glance and he could tell just by looking into the singer’s dark eyes that he wasn’t entirely himself at the moment; Ronnie must of bought some strong wine. Whoops.

“Brandon, we’re going to the hotel and then we’re going to sleep.” Ronnie explained while keeping a steady pace.

Brandon frowned, “but I'm not tired!” He whined loudly, somehow not catching the attention of the other two men.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Ronnie asked quietly. “Bran, it’s nearly four. There isn’t anything to do.”

“You don’t know that,” Brandon insisted. “We could walk around the city—I don't think we’ll get murdered. And even if someone does jump us, we’re from Vegas. We can handle it.”

Ronnie rolled his eyes, “Brandon, I don't think you could take a mugger-”

“Or,” Brandon interjected excitedly. “Or we could find a nice bar-”

Ronnie cut the singer off, “Brandon, I am not taking you to a bar.” He looked directly into the young man’s eyes, “You’re already drunk.” Brandon looked offended.

“I'm not drunk!” he said, just loud enough for Dave to hear. With a confused scowl, the curly-haired man glanced over his shoulder at the cause of the outburst but said nothing.

“Okay, fine then, you're not drunk-—just a little tipsy. I’m still not taking you to a bar.” Brandon looked disappointed for a moment, but his face brightened again when he noticed the exit doors in the distance.

“Then can we just walk around the city for a little bit? This is where so many of my idols are from- I want to see it” Brandon’s wide eyes bore into Ronnie’s and the drummer couldn’t help but melt. Ronnie knew Dave wouldn’t take him and that Brandon wouldn’t ask Mark to go (even though Mark would probably say yes- no matter how tired he was). Before Ronnie could respond to the question, Brandon spoke again. “Just a little bit, Ron. You can sleep in tomorrow and I won’t complain about it, promise.” Using his free hand, Brandon held open one of the double doors for Ronnie, “we can call a cab later and meet Mark and Dave at the hotel.”

“A taxi is gonna cost money,” Ronnie reasoned. Brandon sighed in exasperation.

“I have money, Ronald.” Ronnie leaned against the airport’s stone wall and contemplated for a moment before making his decision.

“If Mark and Dave are okay with it I’ll go with you.” Brandon jumped in excitement and scurried over to the other two men to ask for permission to go. Ronnie didn’t hear the whole conversation, but did catch a few looks from Dave; he couldn’t tell if the expression on the guitarist’s face was one out of confusion or concern, so Ronnie just shrugged to the man. In return, Dave strode over to the wall Ronnie was leaned against while Brandon stayed by Mark and watched the encounter in confusion.

“He kept asking me if I would go with him so I caved—we won’t be out long” Ronnie explained. “He slept during almost all of the flight so I imagine if I run him around for a bit I’ll be able to tire him out again.”

Dave stood for a moment, soaking in Ronnie’s words, then spoke. “Promise me you won’t take him to a bar and get him drunk.” Ronnie was taken back by Dave’s compassion that had seemingly come out of nowhere. The first time he had met Dave and Brandon, Dave certainly didn’t come off as caring for the younger man. To Ronnie, it didn’t seem like Dave gave a shit about what Brandon did. That, of course, was in the beginning, and Ronnie eventually came to understand Dave’s and Brandon’s complex relationship, but what Dave had to say to Ronnie still slightly caught him off guard.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ronnie responded. “I've already talked to him about that. No bars.” Dave nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets when he felt the cold English air. The two stood in a somewhat comfortable silence for a short moment before Dave spoke again.

“I worry about him sometimes.” He said, casting his gaze to Brandon, who was putting on a grey sweatshirt that he had retrieved from his suitcase. “You haven’t known him as long as I have and…” He paused. “Just take care of him, okay?”

Ronnie nodded and put his hand over his heart, “I swear I won’t take Brandon to a bar.”

Dave smiled, “Good. Now, forget we ever talked about this.” He turned back to Brandon’s direction to call him and Mark over. Brandon happily pranced over and Mark followed behind at a normal pace. The four of them stood in a spread-out circle and Dave fished through his wallet for a scrap piece of paper.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked as Dave dove deeper into his wallet, trying to find a blank piece of paper of adequate size.

“You need the address and the room numbers, don’t you?” Dave said without looking up from is task.

“Oh.” Brandon stated. Ronnie heard Dave chuckle before calling Brandon a dumbass, but Brandon didn’t seemed to be bothered by it all. Ronnie assumed that Brandon had become so accustomed to Dave’s behavior that he could tell when the guitarist was actually being serious.

“Does anyone have a pen?” Dave asked when he finally found a good piece. Before Ronnie or Brandon could even look for something to write with, Mark had already somehow spawned one out of thin air. Dave didn’t think anything of it and plucked it from the bassist’s fingers to write with, using his wallet to write on. He quickly scrawled the address and two numbers, one of which was circled. Dave pointed at the circled number, “this one is your’s, Ronnie. You’re with Mark.”

“We’re sharing rooms?” Ronnie asked.

“We couldn’t afford four,” was all that Dave responded with. Ronnie thought that answer was good enough so he didn’t press on any further.

“Will you two be okay on your own? If you need us to help load the taxi we can stay until he gets here.” The drummer offered.

“Nah,” Dave swatted the cold air. “We’ve got it.” It was then when Dave noticed that Brandon had put his bag back on after putting the sweatshirt on. “You want me to take that, Bran?” Brandon looked confused for a second before he realized what Dave was talking about.

“Sure,” he said, taking his neatly folded hands out of the long center pocket of the sweatshirt. “Just give me a second.” Brandon turned away slightly and began digging through his bag; he sneakily pulled out the half-bottle of wine (which was only a quarter full) and stuffed it into his center pocket where it was not at all inconspicuous. The conversation continued on without Brandon but Ronnie noticed Dave’s face fall when he glanced back at the singer. Ronnie turned to see what had upset have and noticed that Brandon had put a fresh carton of cigarettes in his front pant pocket. Ronnie didn’t really understand why Dave hated Brandon’s smoking habit so much but he decided not to comment on it and the conversation continued. Brandon took the bag off and laid it at his feet on the cold cement.

“Ready?” Ronnie asked him; Brandon nodded. “Well, I’ll see you guys later then. Don’t let the cab driver murder you.”

“Oh,” Dave said in an almost evil fashion, “we won’t.” Ronnie had accepted that Dave was a freak a long time ago, so he didn’t say anything back to Dave’s comment. He and Brandon started down the sidewalk in the direction that Dave had said the hotel was in. After they were out of their other band mate’s sight, Brandon broke the silence.

“Do you have a lighter?” He asked out of nowhere. Ronnie didn’t smoke and had no other reason to carry a lighter, so he shook his head. “Damn,” Brandon responded. “Maybe we’ll come across a twenty-four hour store that would sell them.”

Ronnie chuckled, “when I think of London the last thing that would pass through my mind is a dirty twenty-four hour convenience store.” Brandon gave a short laugh to this.

“I guess you’re right,” the singer said, “I won’t get my hopes up.” Part of Ronnie was happy that Brandon had misplaced his lighter because he didn’t particularly enjoy the smell of cigarette smoke. “I'm not that upset about it though,” Brandon continued. “I brought the wine with me.” Ronnie’s head whipped back to Brandon’s direction in shock.

“Why did you do that?” He asked, noticing the bump over Brandon’s abdomen.

“Might as well, you know? There’s not much left. I thought we could celebrate.” the singer replied, which, in his wine-muddled brain, made perfect sense.

Ronnie watched as Brandon removed the bottle from his pouch, “what exactly are we celebrating?”

Brandon shrugged and removed the cork from the bottle, “It’s someone’s birthday somewhere.” Then the singer leaned his head back and took a swig from the bottle. Ronnie had to admit, it was kind of funny. Brandon held the bottle out to Ronnie but before the drummer could take it, Dave’s words repeated in his head. He wasn’t really breaking his promise, was he? Ronnie said he wouldn’t take Brandon to a bar—nothing about sharing a bottle of wine on the street. Ronnie smiled at Brandon and took the bottle, tasting it’s elegant flavor. Dave would probably never find out anyway, and if he did Ronnie decided that he actually hadn’t done anything wrong.

The pair strolled down the street, passing the bottle between them until it was all gone. Ronnie had a high tolerance to alcohol so he wasn’t affected by the liquor very negatively, but the same could not be said for the younger man in his presence. If Brandon hadn’t have had over half the bottle earlier, he would've probably been fine. Ronnie wouldn’t classify Brandon as drunk (because he knew drunk Brandon and this was not him), but if they had anymore to drink he would be. Every once in awhile the singer’s words would slur and he would find his path straying into Ronnie’s; but Ronnie didn’t think it was very serious. He wouldn’t even say that Brandon would have a terrible hangover whenever he woke up later, maybe just a mild headache.

The two had probably been walking for around thirty minutes when Brandon stopped dead in his tracks. Ronnie, too, stopped and looked back at Brandon with his head tilted in confusion.

“What is it?” Ronnie asked the singer when he made no indication that he was going to move.

“Is that…” Brandon started, “a photo booth?” Ronnie turned back around and looked at the machine that Brandon was pointing at. Tucked away in a corner by the entrance of what looked to be a shopping mall, a photo booth sat, calling out to Brandon. “We have to, Ron. We gotta.” Ronnie chuckled at Brandon’s strangeness and shrugged.

“Yeah,” Ronnie said, stepping back to Brandon and grabbing his hand, “I guess we gotta.” He led Brandon over to the machine and studied the sign on it; luckily for them, it also happened to take American money. After digging in his wallet for a moment, the drummer pulled out a five dollar bill and fed it into the machine (which took it on his first try; Ronnie really must've been lucky that day). He ducked into the booth and Brandon followed in after. When the singer sat at the bench, his hand immediately went to press the start button, but Ronnie stopped him.

“We need to figure out what we’re gonna do,” He explained. “We only get four, after all.” Brandon thought for a moment before replying.

“We’ll just do what feels right in the heat of the moment.” Brandon said seriously, looking deep into Ronnie’s eyes. The drummer decided that this was the most hilarious thing to ever happen to him, but he stifled a laugh in order to play along with whatever game Brandon was playing.

“Sounds good to me!” Ronnie exclaimed as he let go of the singer’s wrist, letting Brandon’s finger hit the big button in the center of the console.

The first picture went off without a hitch. It consisted of Ronnie staring straight into the camera and Brandon looking dramatically above it. The only odd thing about the photo was how Brandon had placed his hand right on top of Ronnie’s chest.

The next picture was Ronnie’s favorite. He had smiled for the camera this time, but just as the photo was taken, Brandon grabbed the drummer’s head and placed a gentle kiss on Ronnie’s left temple. It was completely unexpected, but Ronnie still loved every second of it. The third picture caught this perfectly, with both of them gleaming into the camera. Caught off-guard, neither of them really knew what to do for the fourth picture; so Ronnie placed his fist next to Brandon’s chin and stroked his thumb against the singer’s cheek. Once they were done taking the pictures Brandon giggled and proclaimed how much fun he had. Ronnie nodded in agreement and tore the strip of photos out of the machine, then scooted out of the small booth after Brandon.

“Now what?” Ronnie asked after they were both out. Brandon yawned- which meant Ronnie had succeeded.

“I dunno,” He said, sounding tired. “I guess we can head to the hotel now. I’m starting to get cold. I'm not ‘customed to this kind of weather.”

“What time is it?” Ronnie asked, peering down to Brandon’s red watch that still told the incorrect time.

“Four I think,” Brandon said after staring at his wrist for way longer than it actually took to read the time.

“That sounds right.” Ronnie responded. “I think I saw a phone booth back on the sidewalk. C’mon, I’ll call a cab.” After a few minutes of walking in the direction Ronnie thought he saw the payphone, they found it. Brandon leaned against the pole as Ronnie called the number that a chart on the phone said went to a taxi service. After another ten minutes of waiting the cab arrived. Ronnie opened the door for Brandon and then climbed in after him. About ten minutes into the ride the singer leaned over and rested his head in the crook of Ronnie’s neck; Ronnie instinctively (and in part due to his wine-drinking and tiredness) put his arm around Brandon and pulled him closer to his body. They stayed like that for the remainder of their thirty minute ride, only stopping when Ronnie discovered he didn’t have enough money to pay the driver and Brandon had to sit up to pull his wallet out. Ronnie heard Brandon mutter something about how he was supposed to pay for all of it but Ronnie chose to ignore him; the drummer had decided to willingly forget about Brandon’s promise to pay for the whole ride.

The hotel was beautiful, but the two band mates were so tired that they chose to ignore it for the time being. Ronnie pulled of the slip of paper that Dave had given him (which, under further investigation, turned out to be a receipt from Guitar Center) and led Brandon to the elevator. After pressing the button that lead to the tenth floor, Ronnie realized he still had a problem: Dave. If Dave was still awake he might notice Brandon’s… current state; Ronnie didn’t want the hot-tempered guitarist to get angry at either of them.

Ronnie turned his gaze to Brandon, who was humming a song he didn’t recognize; the singer was blissfully unaware of the conversation he had had with Dave. Ronnie suddenly felt incredibly guilty. If Dave was awake and noticed that Brandon was more under the influence than when he had left, Dave would inevitably become angry with Brandon and Brandon wouldn’t even know why. Even though Ronnie still hadn’t broken his promise, he imagined that Dave was implying not to let drink anything as well as not letting him go into a bar.

Ronnie was taken out of his thought when the elevator bell dinged. Once more he checked the room numbers Dave had written and led Brandon to the door that he was staying at. Luckily, their rooms were directly across from each other. Ronnie glanced to the crack between the floor and door of Dave and Brandon’s room and sighed in relief when he saw no lights on in the room.

“Listen,” Ronnie whispered to Brandon, putting a hand on his shoulder. “When you go in you need to be really quiet. You can’t wake up Dave, okay?” Brandon nodded and yawned for about the fifth time since they entered the hotel. Ronnie handed Brandon they key to his room that he had retrieved in the lobby before heading up. Brandon turned to put the key in the door, but struggled to do so with his shaking hands. Ronnie reached over to help but remembered the strip of photos in his pocket.

“Wait,” he whispered again, reaching into his pocket to give the strip to Brandon. “You can keep these.” Brandon brightened and gladly took the pictures, admiring them as Ronnie reached past him to unlock the door. The drummer turned the key slowly—as if any sound, no matter how quiet, could wake the sleeping lion inside.

“Thanks for taking me out tonight, Ronald,” Brandon whispered. Ronnie suddenly felt like he was on a date. “I really appreciate it.” Before he could think of a response, the singer stood on the balls of his feat and took Ronnie’s head in his hands, planting a short kiss to the tip of the drummer’s nose (he was aiming for his forehead but was too short to manage such a feat). Ronnie stood shocked for a moment until Brandon spoke again.

“Goodnight,” Brandon promptly turned and quietly entered the room he shared with Dave. Ronnie was confused. Did Brandon like him more than he put on? Brandon had kissed him twice within the past hour or so. Was he just still feeling the affects of the wine in his system? Or was it something more? Ronnie then remembered what happened in the cab; when the singer had leaned against him and they fit together like two puzzle pieces. The drummer’s heart fluttered when he imagined being romantically involved with Brandon. It was then and there—standing in a dark hotel hallway at four A.M.—when Ronnie Vannucci realized he had it bad for Brandon Flowers. Maybe tomorrow he could work up the courage to talk to Brandon about what had happened that day, but now he only wanted one thing: sleep (second only to Brandon, of course). He turned and unlocked his own hotel door, disappearing inside.

 

**Chapter II: _I've Been Waiting for Love_**

  
  
Brandon awoke with a slight ache in his head and sunbeams on his face. He slowly opened his eyes and when he winced the sun burned them; he quickly pulled a pillow out from under his head to shield his face with and groaned into it. The singer tried to recollect his thoughts from the night before but only came up with a few hazy scenes- it was as if his entire night was filmed with a camera that was out of focus. After a few minutes of harsh contemplation, Brandon was left with a worse headache and no answers as to why he had it in the first place.

Brandon peeked out from his pillow to inspect his room. Two beds, a breakfast table, a couple of chairs, a dresser, a closet, and a door different to the one that he entered through; Brandon assumed that it went to the bathroom. Next to Brandon’s bed was a nightstand and a window that spanned from the floor to the wall. Scattered on the ground was Brandon’s bags and synth case as well as a few of his other miscellaneous belongings. He sat up in his bed in order order to take in the view outside his window, and he was not disappointed. Outside lay the beautiful city of London; old brick buildings littered the horizon and just outside his and Dave’s window sat Big Ben and the London Eye. A dark river was just beneath his window and it sparkled in the sun as boats drove through it. Brandon was just about to get out of bed to further admire the city when he heard the door to the hall jiggle. In walked Dave with two styrofoam take-out boxes.

“Oh, good, you're awake,” the guitarist said as he walked into the room and put the two boxes on the table. “I wasn't gonna wake you up if you weren't and then your food would've gotten cold.” Dave pulled two chairs up to the table and sat in one. Brandon yawned and threw his legs over the bed, noticing he hadn’t bothered to change clothes before he went to sleep. He trudged over to the breakfast table and sat in the chair that Dave had gotten him while Dave slid one of the boxes to Brandon’s spot.

“I got you waffles because I know you're a waffle slut.” He said, digging into his own breakfast that consisted of eggs and sausage.

“Aw,” Brandon cooed sarcastically. “You do care.” He opened the lid and found two waffles and a plastic container of maple syrup.

Dave shrugged, “I try.”

Brandon began pouring the syrup over his still warm waffles, “Have you talked to Ron and Mark today?”

“Nah,” Dave said, mouth full of eggs. “I haven't bothered to yet. I've only been up for an hour.” Brandon shot Dave a confused glance as he sawed into his waffles with a plastic knife.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Eleven-thirty. You should get that watch of yours fixed.” Brandon glanced down to his wristwatch (which he also never took off) and noticed it still had the wrong time. He put his knife down and began to fix the time when Dave caught him off guard.

“Why is there a bottle of wine on the floor next to your bag?” The singer looked up from his watch with a furrowed furrowed brow and immediately locked eyes with Dave. Brandon broke the gaze and turned in his chair, spotting his bottle right where the guitarist said it would be.

“It’s empty,” Brandon responded, turning back around.

Dave sighed and propped his elbows up on the table, “yes, but why is it there?”

Brandon groaned, “what does it matter to you?” Dave inhaled deeply out of frustration and ran a hand through his curly hair.

“Brandon,” he said. “Alcoholism is genetic. You know that right-”

“No it’s not,” Brandon shot back. “That’s a load of shit.” Dave tried to reason with the younger man but was cut short again. “Anyway, what the fuck do you think you’re doing accusing my family of things like that?”

Dave’s voice raised, “Brandon, it’s not an accusation if it’s true. You told me yourself that-” He was interrupted again, but not by Brandon this time—a knock at the door. Dave huffed and stood to get the door, “Finish eating.” He said to Brandon coldly. “We’ll talk about this later.” Despite his anger towards the older man, Brandon immediately followed his command and began to eat again.

From his seat at the table, the singer could see Dave open the door, revealing Ronnie and Mark.

“Hey, bitch!” Ronnie greeted. Dave let go of the door and stepped out of the way, motioning for the men to come in before dropping both arms at his sides. Ronnie glided in and jumped back into Brandon’s bed, disrupting the pillows as he did so. “Nice place you got here,” he said as he put his arms behind his head. “We don’t even have a window. Or a table.” Ronnie added the last part when his eyes wandered to Brandon, whose face was stuffed with his breakfast. Dave shot a quizzical look to Mark, who shook his head at the curly-haired man—so they did have a table.

“Where are we going today?” the drummer asked. Ronnie ignored Dave’s response for the most part and let his eyes wander from the lean man at the table and looked back out the window; but on the way something in the floor gleamed in the sun, catching Ronnie’s attention. An empty bottle, discarded by its owner. After realizing that he’d been staring at the bottle for some time, his eyes shot up and returned their gaze back to the window, hoping that Dave didn’t notice.

“-and then I was thinking we could check out tomorrow’s venue—I needed to talk to the manager anyway. What do you think?” Ronnie turned his attention back to the man he was currently fearing.

“Yeah, that’s all good and dandy—except the venue part. I think I might just stay here instead. I’ll see the venue tomorrow,” he said coolly. “You and Mark can go deal with all that business shit—I’m here to rock.”

“What about Brandon?” Dave asked.

Ronnie shrugged, “the kid can stay here with me; I’m sure he doesn’t want to go do a bunch of boring paperwork. Boy’s night in.” Ronnie immediately regretted the words he had said when something flashed behind Dave’s eyes—he definitely knew.

“Oh?” Dave said, “I was thinking he could come with me. What do you think, Brandon?” The man in question looked up from his last bite of food and saw that all eyes were on him.

“Um…” He started, trying to find a way out of this situation. He didn’t want to be stuck with Dave all night after what had happened earlier out of fear that Dave would try to lecture him about his “bad habits”. “I can stay here with Ronnie. I'm sure I’ll be tired after all the activities you've planned for today. I can sign whatever I need to tomorrow when we go then.” Dave looked annoyed with Brandon’s answer, but didn't press on.

“Alright then,” he said from his spot against the wall. “Brandon, get dressed. Mark, could you go down to the lobby and find a map, please? Maybe some brochures?”

“Sure,” the tall man said before leaving the room. This left Ronnie alone in a den with a hungry lion and an innocent lamb.

After a few moments to ensure that Mark had made it out of the hall, Dave spoke again. “Ronnie, can I talk to you in the hall?” Lamb eliminated; Ronnie was going to die.

“Sure,” he said through a fake smile, standing from the bed. Dave walked back to the door and held it open for Ronnie.

“Take your time, Brandon.” The lamb has been slaughtered—there was no way in Hell that Ronnie was gonna make it out of this alive. Ronnie cast a weary look back to Brandon as he walked through the door; once the two were in the hallway, Dave closed the door and his false smile dropped. Ronnie decided to explain himself before the situation got any worse.

“I didn’t take Brandon to a bar, Dave. I promise you I didn’t.” He said quickly before Dave could say anything first.

Dave crossed his arms, “so you decided to take him to a liquor store instead? Because that was the right thing to do?”

The drummer sighed “Dave, no, I didn't take Brandon anywhere like that. We got it on the-”

“I don't care where you got the damn thing,” Dave spat. “I trusted you, Ronnie. That’s what matters to me right now. You made a promise-”

“Dave,” Ronnie cried, begging him to listen. “I bought it for Brandon on the plane. He was so fucking nervous he would die if he had to endure it any longer. I got it for him in the hopes that he would fall asleep—and he did!” Dave stayed quiet, soaking in the new information that he had been told. “He snuck it with him when we went on our walk last night. He was so persistent about sharing the rest with me- which wasn’t even a fourth of the bottle—I let him drink it; I didn’t want to ruin his mood. That’s why it’s in your room.” Dave glared at the wall behind Ronnie, still saying nothing. “Dave, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I certainly don’t want to hurt Brandon.”

Finally, Dave’s gaze returned to Ronnie’s pleading eyes. “Don’t let it happen again, Vannucci. I really mean it this time. Brandon is only a kid—he doesn’t deserve to go through any of this.” Dave turned back to the door and opened it before looking back to the distressed drummer, “we’ll come get you when he’s ready to leave.” He then leaned back towards him and whispered so that Brandon couldn't hear, “Oh, and Ronnie? In case I don't get a chance to tell you later: If I get back and find an ounce of anything that isn't supposed to be here, I’ll make sure you regret it.” The guitarist returned to his room, leaving Ronnie alone in the hallway for a second time. The drummer stood in shock once again, but not the good kind that he had felt the night before. Ronnie tilted his head back and let it hit the wall with a thud and groaned, remembering what had happened between him and Brandon in the exact spot that he stood. He dreaded the thought of having a conversation about the events that had taken place- so much so that he laid awake in bed for an hour after Brandon had departed to go to sleep. At least he and Brandon would be alone together again. Ronnie decided not to dwell on the subject any longer and returned to his room. He would deal with talking to Brandon when the time came—for now he was going to focus on having a good rest of the day.

 

When Dave returned to his room he found Brandon perched next to the window with a small hand-mirror, applying his prized black eyeliner. The singer glanced at Dave when he walked in but made no point to break the thick silence between them. Brandon had already gotten dressed; he wore a simple black button-down shirt and a pair of old jeans that Dave had seen probably one thousand times before. His beloved red watch was back on his wrist (set to the correct time), and he was wearing boat shoes—which were out of style but Brandon was on a mission to bring them back.

After a couple of quiet minutes Brandon finished his makeup and sighed deeply, looking at Dave. “I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier,” he said, “you're just trying to help me and I need to get that through my head.” After his conversation with Ronnie, Dave didn't really feel like talking about Brandon’s problems with alcohol that were seemingly obvious to everyone but him.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” Dave responded from where he had sat at the breakfast table.

“No,” Brandon said after he sat down on his bed. “I think I should worry about it if ‘party animal’ Dave Brent Keuning is telling me I drink too much.”

Dave sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair, “It's not just about how you drink too much, Brandon. You’re barely twenty-two, if you keep going at this rate you're going to get addicted.” Brandon quietly sat in a moment of introspection as he began to realize what the older man was talking about. “Try not to worry too much about it this week—it is special, after all. But when we get back to Vegas I want you to try to get better, okay?”

“Yeah, I'll try,” the singer said. “I promise.”

After their talk Brandon made his hair somewhat presentable and the two men met up with Ronnie and Mark in the hall. They all chatted briefly before making their way down to the lobby; Brandon scanned the room in search of a shop of some sort in order to purchase a lighter, but found none. He had not had a smoke in almost twenty-four hours and he could feel affects; his head ached, he felt his fingers twitch, and he felt almost as anxious as he did before he got on the plane yesterday. Brandon couldn't believe that he had managed to lose the one object that seemed to control his life the most. As the four exited the lobby Brandon took in the crisp autumn breeze of London and only felt partially better.

The day’s activities included visiting some of London’s most iconic landmarks, including Big Ben and taking a ride on the London Eye. As they walked through the streets of London Brandon noticed a tense air between Ronnie and Dave, so he decided to stick close to Mark for the time being. The city was beautiful and the singer appreciated how ancient it felt. In comparison to other countries America was still quite new, meaning that old buildings filled with history weren’t a common occurrence—especially as far west as Las Vegas. Still, Brandon felt a sense of pride when the thought of his home town in Nevada. As odd as it may seem, the singer missed his mundane life in Vegas—he missed his small one-bedroom apartment, the city lights, even his shitty car and job at the Gold Coast Hotel. Brandon snapped out of his thoughts when he realized he recognized where he was; he stopped in his tracks as he saw the Royal Albert Hall across the road. So many of his favorite bands had played in the iconic arena the singer was gazing at—including The Smiths in 1985, Elton John, Oasis, and Brandon’s Idol, Morrissey, just a year earlier.

“You think we’ll ever make it there?” Ronnie asked, startling Brandon because he  hadn’t realized that the drummer was standing there.

Brandon scoffed, “maybe in ten years.”

“I dunno,” The drummer said, putting his arm around Brandon’s shoulder. “Maybe… six.”

Brandon laughed, making the butterflies in Ronnie’s stomach soar. “Where’d you get that number from, Ron?”

“Well Brando, I pulled it out of my ass.” Ronnie said seriously.

“Oh?” Brandon questioned, “what else do you have up there?”

Ronnie nearly choked. He fumbled with words for a moment before Dave called for them to hurry up. Brandon smirked to the drummer then ducked out of his hold; the singer skipped backed to Dave and Ronnie followed, vowing to talk to Brandon about the feelings he discovered the night before.

 

After their long day the band returned to the hotel so Dave and Mark could pick up some the important documents they needed to take to the venue they were playing at the next day. Everyone filed into Brandon and Dave’s room (which had quickly turned into the main meeting room for The Killers); Ronnie returned to the spot on Brandon’s bed he had claimed earlier that day and Brandon commanded the drummer to scoot over so that he could lay down next to him. In order to distract himself from what Ronnie could describe best as “first date jitters”, the drummer turned his attention to what his other bandmates were doing—Mark was putting together a folder of papers and Dave was arranging some of the band’s luggage in order for his room to look less like a disaster zone. The guitarist picked up a duffel bag and tossed it into a corner of the room where it would be out of the way, but as the bag hit the ground it jingled familiarly.

“Okay dude,” Ronnie said. “What the fuck is in that bag?” As he was stacking instrument cases Dave motioned for the drummer to take the bag. Brandon crawled to the end of the bed and reached as far as he could to grab the bag then pulled it onto the bed. He sat with his legs crossed and slowly unzipped the bag as if it were full of precious gems. It wasn’t, but to Brandon it might as well of been. Inside the bag was blue lighters with their band’s logo printer on them in white. Ronnie peered in with a disappointed look on his face.

“That’s it?” He asked, “just a bunch of lighters-”

“Can I have one?” Brandon interrupted; he held one close to his face to further examine it and found that it also said “Hot Fuss” in red under the band logo.

“Sure, kid,” Dave said to Brandon. The expression on Brandon’s face could best be described as “I just won the lottery”.

“What was making that noise, then?” Ronnie questioned. Bandon pulled a tambourine labeled “RVJ” out of the bag. “Oh.”

“Well,” Dave announced after he was finished with the instrument cases. “We better get going. We’ll be back in an hour or two. Be good.” Ronnie knew the last part of Dave’s statement was directed to him. He watched as Dave followed Mark out of the room and lock the door behind him.

“Now what?” Brandon asked, laying back down next to Ronnie. Ronnie wanted to die—he was so nervous. Brandon’s stunning brown-green eyes were bearing into Ronnie’s—he had to weigh out his options. Best-case scenario: Brandon would feel the same way as the drummer and they would make out (and more) all night; the thought brought chills down Ronnie’s spine. Worst-case scenario: Brandon would be disgusted at the thought of dating Ronnie and it would ruin their friendship to such an extent that the band would break up and abandon Ronnie in London. It was Ronnie’s worst nightmare, but if he played his cards right the payoff would be as sweet as Brandon’s summer smile.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Ronnie said, causing a short flash of panic in Brandon’s eyes.

“Okay,” Brandon said. “Shoot.”

“It’s about last night,” the singer tried to recall what happened the night before, but still came up empty.

“I can’t remember a lot of that, you know. Did I get drunk?” He asked.

“Uh… no,” Ronnie was lying mostly to himself. “Yes. Maybe.”

“I'm not mad or anything,” Brandon said, “I'm just asking. I'm pretty sure I had fun.”

“Yes, then,” Ronnie said. “But it’s what you did while you were drunk that I wanna talk about.”

Brandon suddenly looked very worried, “was I really mean? Damn, Ronnie, I'm so sorry. I can get really rude sometimes-”

“No!” Ronnie interjected. “No, it’s the opposite, really,” the drummer took a deep breath. It was now or never. “You were very… touchy.”

“Touchy?” Brandon questioned, very confused.

“Didn't you see the photo booth pictures?”

“Photo booth?” Brandon sighed, falling back onto his pillow. “Ron, can you tell me what this is about, please?”

Ronnie decided to just let it out then and there. “Brandon, you kissed me twice last night and I'm getting mixed signals.”

Brandon stayed silent, soaking in what the drummer told him. As each second passed by, Ronnie became more and more terrified; he braced himself for whatever Brandon had to say to him.

“Ron…” the singer started. His words were slow and delicate so that he would not hurt his friend. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

“I’m not asking for an apology,” Ronnie stated. Brandon shot up, realizing what Ronnie was asking him.

“Oh,” Brandon crossed his legs and put his head in his hands, unsure of what else to say.  Ronnie could sense that if he didn’t change the mood of this conversation that everything would crash and burn.

“If the answer is no,” Ronnie said cautiously. “Can I change your mind?”  Brandon giggled, causing the drummer to smile.

“Listen,” Brandon placed his hand on Ronnie’s knee. “I’m not saying no, but, right now the band is really busy; and we’ve only known each other for a little over a year. I'm not saying I'm not interested—because I am—but right now isn't a good time.” Ronnie thought it over for a moment, deciding that Brandon’s answer was satisfactory.

“So, what you're saying is that I can change your mind?”

Brandon barked out another laugh, “yes, Ronnie. You can change my mind.”

“Good. Let's not let this get between us, ‘kay?” Ronnie said.

“Definitely,” Brandon replied. “No hard feelings.” Ronnie sighed in relief. “Listen,” Brandon said again. “I'm gonna try to find a balcony or something and have a smoke. You wanna come?”

“Are you asking me out?” Ronnie joked.

Brandon laughed and shoved the drummer’s shoulder, “shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah,” Ronnie said, swinging his legs over Brandon’s bed. “I'll go with you.”

Brandon spoke as he put his jacket on, “You always do.”

That’s how Ronnie Vannucci found himself stargazing with Brandon Flowers. The two stood next to each other—Brandon delicately holding and cigarette between his middle and index finger and Ronnie resisting the urge to hold the singer’s hand. Ronnie had the feeling that they would fit together perfectly. It was then and there that the drummer decided to dedicate the next year to making Brandon fall for him the same way that Ronnie had fallen for the singer. He knew it would take a long time, but even Brandon had said that it was possible. It was the biggest gamble Ronnie would ever make, but it would be more than worth it if he came out on top.

 

The next day was the day that The Killers played their first London gig. Brandon had played many shows before but this time was special—he was more nervous than usual. It didn't help that the night before Dave had told him about a rumor that a reporter from NME Magazine would be there. The singer hardly slept the night before, causing him to wake up at noon. All night, Brandon went through every bad scenario that could happen, including him passing out on stage, throwing up on his keyboard, and falling off the stage—no one caught him. After a late breakfast (or early lunch), the band discussed the night’s setlist which which was composed of ten songs—including some of their lesser known songs such as Under the Gun and Midnight Show. The plan was to hang out around the hotel for a few hours then leave for the pub around six o’clock (when no one was there) to set up their equipment. Afterwards, they would have dinner at the pub and hang around backstage until it was showtime at ten.

After a couple of hours, the four piled into a cab and made their way to the bar they were playing at. As the ride continued, Brandon became increasingly nervous—but was calmed when the drummer sitting across from him began to hum a beautiful tune that Brandon could only describe as heavenly. But the singer couldn't tell whether it was the actual tune or Ronnie’s deep voice that made him feel this way. As Brandon listened to the melody his nerves began to vanish and before he could ask Ronnie about the song, they arrived. Before Brandon or Ronnie could begin their work, they had to sign a couple contracts that had something to do with not setting a guitar on fire—because apparently that was a reoccurring problem there. The band then set up their instruments in the usual layout: Dave on the far right, Brandon’s keyboard at the front of the stage in the center, Mark on the left, and Ronnie directly behind Brandon. Earlier that day, as they were setting up, Ronnie had joked about how he had such a nice view during shows. This caused the singer to giggle and bashfully look down to his keyboard. Ronnie’s heart soared.

While they were setting up the pub opened, so when the band was done they all sat at a booth for dinner. Brandon was still nervous, so when a waitress came to their table he took part in his pre-show ritual and ordered a pint of London’s best brew. Dave tried to make small talk.

“I heard that the NME journalist's name was Mark Beaumont,” He said. “This could be good publicity for us.”

Ronnie, bored, swirled the ice in his glass with a straw, “any publicity is good publicity at this point.”

Brandon took a long sip of his beer, “I wouldn’t say that. We were just signed—we don't wanna get kicked out by Lizard King.”

“I don’t think that’s how record labels work.” The band sat in a comfortable yet tense silence as they waited for their food to arrive. Brandon had decided to be cliche and ordered fish and chips—Dave (lovingly?) made fun of him. The singer didn't mind the older man’s constant harassment, he knew that Dave didn't actually mean all the hateful things he said. This, however, did not stop a few pub-goer’s stares when they heard Dave call Brandon an “English slut”.

Conversation started up again once the hungry band’s food arrived, but Brandon only half listened. He peacefully ate his food (which he thought was incredible) and drank his beer. The only moment of conflict was when a waitress came to ask Brandon if he wanted another drink—Dave turned the woman down for Brandon. The singer gave Dave a mild glare but decided it wasn’t worth making a fuss over. Drunk Brandon had two flaws—he got angry easily and he didn't think he was actually drunk. While the singer may of been overcoming the first of his problems, the latter never seemed to leave him. This was part of why Dave worried so much for the boy—once he started he didn't know when to stop.

Bradon’s nervousness wore off as the alcohol in his system began to take effect, and before he knew it it was show time. The singer forgot about Mark Beaumont and when it was his time to do what he did best he sang his heart out. Everything was going fine until the band played their last song for the night. Brandon sang just fine, the band played perfectly, but the singer’s head grew increasingly dizzy. Brandon could barely play his keyboard and was having trouble seeing straight. Before he could subtly get one of his bandmates’ attention, the singer stumbled off the stage in a drunken haze. Just like in one of Brandon’s nightmare scenarios, no one caught him. The audience stood in shock, but Ronnie moved fast. He leaped over his drum kit and jumped off the stage. Sitting on his knees, the drummer cradled Brandon’s upper body in his arms, whispering in his ear. Brandon’s dull, clouded eyes shot around the room. He felt as if everyone was laughing at him—even Mark Beaumont. Ronnie tried to pull the singer off of the floor, but he seemed heavier than he did just days ago at the airport. After a couple of tries (and a lot of grunting) Ronnie managed to pull Brandon back on his feet. The drummer rushed the younger man backstage and Brandon stumbled into a bathroom. From outside the door, Ronnie heard the sound of violent retching. The drummer took a deep breath and entered the bathroom—he found Brandon on the floor, leaning over the toilet. Ronnie squatted next to the sick singer and rubbed his back as Brandon vomited. The drummer tried to comfort the boy by running his hands through his hair, playing with it. After a few minutes, Brandon leaned back onto the bathroom wall, still on the floor. Despite Ronnie’s silent gripes about sitting on the dirty floor, he did anyway and pulled Brandon close; they sat in a way that was similar to the way they did in the cab ride home from the airport. As Brandon’s labored breathing calmed, Ronnie sighed- it would be a long week.

 

**Chapter III: _I Believe In You and Me_**

  
  
By the end of their week in London, The Killers were tired. After playing shows for six days straight, the four were glad to get home to Las Vegas. Even though Brandon loved London (and hated planes) he was glad to be heading for the airport. The singer may not of been very nervous about his upcoming plane ride, but he did feel tense due to some events that happened earlier that morning. Brandon woke from a dream (that had to do with a certain drummer) that he never thought he would ever have feeling particularly satisfied if not embarrassed. He was now sitting next to said drummer—feeling shameful about the feelings he felt hours earlier.

Despite the incident at their first London concert, the other shows went surprisingly well. Each night Brandon would recognize faces from the night before and he would see more and more new faces as the week progressed. The lighters that he had found in Dave’s duffel bag were given away at the first concert; they were meant for the last show but the guitarist passed them out after Ronnie whisked Brandon away to avoid awkwardness with the crowd.

Brandon felt no nerves when they arrived at the airport. Seemingly over his fear of flying, he was in a cheery mood. The day continued without a hitch and before he knew it, Brandon found himself boarding the plane. As he walked through the tunnel Dave ran up next to him in a hurry.

“Change of plans—you'll be sitting next to me this time, okay?” The guitarist said, not seeing a problem with his words.

“Why?” Brandon asked defensively, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Dave said. “Nothing happened. I just had a talk with Ronnie and we decided to switch places.” Brandon felt hurt at the implication that Ronnie didn't want to sit next to him. Did it have anything to do with the talk that they had a week earlier? The singer felt an anxiousness rise inside of him.

“Oh… okay. That’s fine, I guess.” It wasn’t fine.

After waiting on the plane next to Dave for an hour or two, they took off. Brandon looked back to Ronnie, who was sound asleep. The singer had tried to fall asleep before takeoff, but was unable to. Similarly to when he took off a week ago, Brandon turned his gaze to the window outside. This time he didn't see mountains, but a bustling city shining in the morning light. Brandon knew he couldn't get a bottle of wine with Dave next to him, so he had to either wait it or fall asleep. He definitely wasn't going to fall asleep.

Six hours into the flight, the singer was exhausted. All of his bandmates (except Mark, who was reading) were asleep. Brandon found himself tapping a looping melody on his armrest; he was calm for the most part, but what happened next would stick with him for years.

The plane dropped out of the sky—he was going to die.

It all happened so fast, but Brandon remembered seeing people not in their seats flying up and air masks dropping from their places above seats. People screamed, cried, and prayed to whatever God they believed in. Brandon was so terrified that his mind slowed—not a thought ran through his head but these three:

He was going to die. He was going to die and he had done something so terrible to Ronnie that Ronnie didn't want to sit next to him. Ronnie didn't love him anymore.

Brandon decided dying alone wasn't something he wanted to do.

Eventually the plane came to a stop, but not on the ocean. The plane halted mid-air and steadied—a pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker and apologized.

That apology wasn't enough for Brandon.

Later, the plane landed safely and if it weren't for Dave, Brandon would've bolted off immediately. After retrieving their bags, the band made plans for meeting again on a later date to finish their album, and promised to keep in touch. Everyone parted ways in separate cabs, but when Brandon finally got home he felt empty.

 

A week later, Ronnie Vannucci got a phone call.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Ronnie, it’s Dave. I need a favor?” Oh, it was the curly-haired freak that Ronnie considered as a friend.

“What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Brandon.” That wasn't good. Dave sounded hurried—and scared? “I’ve been checking in on him this past week and today he didn't answer his phone. I must've called him one-hundred times but he hasn’t answered.”

“Well,” Ronnie replied. “What do you want me to do? Call him up and tell him to stop ignoring you?”

“That won’t work—do you think he can afford caller ID?” Dave was right, Ronnie realized. Brandon couldn't have had caller ID. “I would love it if you could go and check on him—I would but I live further away and I’m tied up in something right now.”

Ronnie sighed, “Alright, Keuning. I'll check in on the kid. Is that all?”

“There’s a spare key hidden in a house plant next to the door. In the dirt.”

That was weird. “Okay, I'll get going. You owe me, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, just hurry. Call me when you know he’s alright.” Dave hung up without a goodbye—how rude!

Already dressed, Ronnie grabbed the keys to his truck and made his way out of the house he shared with a few other of his friends from his university. Even though he only lived ten minutes away, Ronnie found himself going slightly over the speed limit. He was worried—Dave sounded genuinely afraid when he talked to him on the phone. Since when was Dave scared? When it came to Brandon, Dave did tend to be a worrier—but only in private. When Brandon’s apartment building came into sight, Ronnie unconsciously gripped the steering wheel tighter. When the drummer arrived, he noticed the singer’s car in its usual parking spot. Ronnie didn't know whether this relieved him or not, knowing that Brandon was home also meant that Brandon might of been purposely ignoring Dave’s calls. The drummer hastily exited his own vehicle and flew up the stairs to Brandon’s apartment. It was then when Ronnie realized that he had never actually been inside the younger man’s apartment—just the outside. He knocked on the door that Dave had said was Brandon’s, and when he got no answer he knocked harder. After five minutes of knocking and calling for the singer, Ronnie resorted to finding the spare key that Dave had told him about. The drummer digged through the dirt of a potted plant next to the door until he felt a tiny metal object inside—the key. With a jittering hand, Ronnie inserted the key and entered the apartment.

Ronnie didn't observe the inside of the apartment too closely, but found himself in a living room. The drummer did notice that the apartment was much smaller than it seemed from the outside. Before he could look too intently at his surroundings, he heard Brandon’s terrible sobs coming from the kitchen. Ronnie rushed to where he heard the noise and what he saw broke his heart. Brandon, looking smaller than usual, was huddled in a corner of his kitchen. His knees were pulled up to his face, obscuring it, but Brandon shook as he sobbed. The singer slowly looked up to meet Ronnie’s concerned gaze; the drummer took note of Brandon’s red, wet face.

“Ron?” Brandon’s eyes jumped to a bottle of bourbon on floor, completely empty except for a splash of liquid in the bottom, and began to weep again, “I'm so s-s-sorry.”

Ronnie had never seen someone in such a state before. Brandon cried into his knees; his hair pointing in every direction, his hands trembling. The drummer approached the sobbing man in a matter that someone would to a scared, hurt animal. Ronnie leaned down and sat next to Brandon, putting his arm around the distraught man.

“I'm so so so s-sorry.” Brandon said in a raw voice, still sobbing. “I promised D-Dave I’d be b-better but I'm just not good enough.” Ronnie didn't know what to say to comfort the man, so he stayed quiet and listened to his story. “I thought just a little would be okay… b-but I couldn't stop,” Brandon’s red, teary eyes stared deeply into Ronnie’s.

“I think there’s something w-wrong with me.”

Ronnie placed a long, gentle kiss to the singer’s forehead, “there isn't a single thing wrong with you, Brandon.” He whispered, hugging Brandon, “you’re just in a bad spot—and that happens to everyone.”

“N-No,” Brandon’s speech was muffled due to him now crying into Ronnie’s shoulder. “I broke a p-promise. Daves gonna hate me.” Ronnie suddenly remembered his own broken promise to Dave, and understood where the singer was coming from.

“Brandon, as much as it may not seem, Dave loves you. He cares about you- you being drunk would be the last thing on his mind right now.”

“That’s not true—he thinks I'm w-worthless. He thinks I'm just a w-waste.”

“Brandon, look at me,” Ronnie said. Brandon reluctantly followed his command. “I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren't for Dave. He called me, he was worried sick and he couldn't get here fast enough so he called me and he begged me to come check on you.” The part about begging wasn't entirely true, but it was something the singer needed to hear. “The only person saying that you’re worthless is you, Brandon. You don't believe that, do you?” Brandon returned to Ronnie’s shoulder and shook his head.

“No. I d-don't.” Ronnie pulled Brandon in closer as the singer cried, “I'm s-sorry Ronnie. I'm so sorry.”

Ronnie hushed the singer’s mantra and replaced it with one of his own, “Everything will be alright, Brandon. I swear, everything will be alright.” They sat like that for what might have been hours, but Ronnie didn't mind it. The drummer went to let go of the boy, but Brandon grabbed Ronnie’s hand before he could.

“Don’t go,” the singer whimpered; he wasn’t crying as hard as he was before, but tears still streaked down his face. Ronnie checked the clock on the wall, it was getting late.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” the drummer took Brandon’s hand—it fit perfectly with his own. Ronnie led him to the room towards the back of the apartment that he assumed was Brandon’s; inside was a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. It seemed that all of the boy’s apartment was small, even with just three object in his room it was packed. Brandon then took the lead and, still holding Ronnie’s hand, laid down on his bed without bothering to get under the blanket. The drummer scoffed at Brandon, pulling the covers out from under him and laying them on top.

Brandon peered at Ronnie, “well?” He asked weakly. It was then when the drummer realized Brandon’s intention. Ronnie cautiously took off his shoes and crawled into bed next to Brandon. He knew he shouldn't have been nervous; he had laid in bed with the singer before and it wasn't like Brandon was going to start anything with him—he was drunk, after all. Ronnie laid under the blankets with Brandon; the singer’s tired eyes staring into his chocolate ones. Brandon’s next request was one that Ronnie never saw coming.  
  
“Will you sing to me?” It was so simple, but it terrified the drummer. Ronnie thought about it for a minute before deciding on a song. As Ronnie sang, Brandon’s eyes slid shut and he dozed off with a sweet smile on his face. Soon enough, Ronnie followed suit and fell asleep as well.

_“I gotta tell ya,_

_I'll make it better_

_But I know there's somethin' I needed to say_

_When I was out, though_

_Maybe you were better alone_

_I know I'll make it home.”_

 

When Ronnie awoke early the next morning, Brandon was still asleep in his bed. At first, the drummer was confused as to where he was, but the events of the night before came rushing back like an uncontrollable river. Ronnie turned his attention to the man he shared the bed with—Brandon looked angelic. His face was pale, but calm, and even in his sleep he looked drained. Ronnie decided to let the singer rest long and crawled out of the bed at a slow pace, careful not to wake him. The drummer tiptoed across the room and shut the door behind him as he left, breathing a sigh of relief. Then Ronnie realized that he had never payed attention to the apartment the night before, so he decided to look around. Outside of Brandon’s bedroom was a hallway which lead to the main room and kitchen. In the hall there was a door to Ronnie’s left that went to a bathroom. The walls of the hall was littered with family photos and other miscellaneous people, places, and things.

In the living room was a couch, bookshelf, and small table that Brandon’s record player sat on. Across the room was the bookshelf that held various books, knick-knacks, and the singer’s music collection that consisted of CDs, records, and cassette tapes. What Brandon had the least of was CDs, but the other two categories flourished. Ronnie also noticed several ashtrays in the apartment, but no terrible smell that was usually found in a smoker’s home. Maybe Brandon was an avid candle fan—or he kept a fan on then he indulged himself in his disgusting habit. The living room was separated from the kitchen by a modest island that was connected to the wall on one side. The kitchen wasn't anything special, but it was of good size compared to the rest of the apartment.

Ronnie figured that Brandon would have a terrible hangover whenever he woke up, so he decided to make the singer breakfast. But, on his way to the refrigerator, the drummer noticed the abandoned bottle of bourbon that lay still on the floor. Ronnie picked up the bottle and deduced that Brandon must not of drank the whole thing the night before- he probably started it with it partially empty. Brandon could hardly hold down half a bottle of wine- much less an entire bottle of bourbon. Ronnie promptly found a trashcan and threw the bottle away.

There wasn't much in the singer’s fridge—Ronnie only found a package of bacon, a carton of milk, and a fuck-ton of Coke and booze (along with various take-out boxes full of leftovers). The bacon would have to do.

Maybe an hour after Ron cooked the bacon and ate it (leaving some for Brandon), he heard a scream. The drummer decided that whatever issue Brandon was having was none of his business, but he was confused when the singer emerged from his room wearing his work uniform after a mere seven minutes.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-” Brandon burst out of his room, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Ronnie on his couch. The singer looked terrible—his hair disheveled, face still pale, and bags were under his eyes.

“Brandon,” Ronnie said, being careful about the volume of his voice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brandon stood utterly confused in the middle of his living room, but Ronnie had to admit—it was kind of funny.

“I'm-I'm going to be late. I have to go-”

“To the Gold Coast?” Ronnie asked. “You think you can go to work like that?”

“I have to,” Brandon explained. “I have to give my notice for quitting and-” Brandon stopped mid-sentence. “What are you doing in my house?”

“You call this a house?” Ronnie joked, “I stayed the night.” An understanding look flooded onto the singer’s face.

“Oh, yeah.”

“I made you breakfast.” Brandon looked back at his island and saw a plate of bacon. He hurriedly grabbed it and headed for the door.

“Thank you so much, Ron. For everything, I mean it.” Brandon went to grab the door handle but stopped, “Will you be here when I get back?”

Ronnie shrugged, “I can be. When will you be back?”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

Brandon leaned against the doorframe and contemplated for a moment, “In a couple hours.” He said, “maybe at three.”

Ronnie nodded, “Yeah. I'll stay.”

“Good,” Brandon said before leaving. “I wanted to talk about some song stuff.”

 

Ronnie sat at Brandon’s apartment for who knows how many hours. Throughout the day the drummer listened to some of Brandon’s albums, ordered a pizza, and even went back home for a little bit to change clothes (and grab a bag of extra clothes if he needed to stay with Brandon for any longer) and get his guitar (which he imagined he would need for whatever the singer threw at him later). Brandon did, however, find his way home and met up with Ronnie again at three-thirty. When Ronnie heard keys jingling at the door he perked up, but felt sorry for the kid when he entered his apartment. Without a word, Brandon stumbled to the sofa that Ronnie sat at and collapsed back onto it. Brandon’s head fell into the drummer’s shoulder and groaned.

“I hate my job,” his speech was muffled by Ronnie’s shirt.

“Well,” Ronnie said. “On the bright side, you'll be done soon.” Brandon leaned up and sighed.

“Yeah.”

Ronnie felt sorry for the tired singer, “you know,” He said. “We don't have to work on a song today if you're too tired. I can get home, if you don't want me here.”

“No!” Brandon exclaimed. “Stay, please. This was the only thing keeping me from jumping off a balcony and diving onto Flamingo Road today.” Ronnie shuddered—that was morbid.

“Okay, okay,” the drummer said. “I can stay.” Brandon still looked troubled. “What's wrong?”

Brandon sighed and looked Ronnie in the eye, “I have a… favor to ask of you. I was wondering if you could stay here for a little bit—only if you want to! Only for a couple of days—maybe a week!” Brandon placed a hand on Ronnie’s knee, “I don't want what happened last night to happen again and…”

“You're afraid if you're alone it will?” Ronnie completed the boy’s sentence.

Brandon nodded, “I can't trust myself anymore, Ron. Please stay.” The singer stared at Ronnie with pleading, doe eyes. Ronnie didn't like living with his university “friends” anyway.

“Brandon,” the drummer answered. “I'll stay with you as long as you want me to.” The singer broke out into a huge grin and threw his arms around Ronnie.

“Oh, thank you so much, Ronnie. You won't be stuck here long, I promise.”

Ronnie chuckled, “Brandon, I would stay with you for a year if you asked me with a smile like that. Now, let’s get to that song.”

“Okay,” Brandon said, pulling away from the drummer. “I think Hot Fuss is missing something. We need a better song to end it on. I thought you might have something.” The singer was right—Ronnie did have something.

“Well… yeah. I guess I do have an idea…”

“Great!” Brandon exclaimed. “I'll get my piano—be back in a sec.” Brandon was so excited that he practically jumped from the couch to get his keyboard from a little closet in the hall. When he returned he noticed Ronnie’s guitar.

“Where’d you get that?” He asked, setting the keyboard down on his coffee table and plugging it into the wall.

“It’s mine. I went back home to get it, thought I might need it.” Brandon grabbed the guitar by its neck and handed it to Ronnie before sitting across from him on the ground. He turned the electronic piano on and messed with the settings.

“That’s cool. I thought you could only play the drums.” The singer hit a key on the piano to test out the sound, “I've never been good with anything with strings.”

Ronnie chuckled, “maybe one day I can teach you.”

“Maybe,” Brandon agreed. “So, what do you have?” Ronnie was nervous about showing the singer the verse that he had scrawled down, but handed it over anyway. Brandon gladly took the scrap of paper and read over it eagerly. The drummer noticed the smile on Brandon’s face growing as he read.

“Ronnie…” he said once he had finished. “This is amazing!” Ronnie was shocked at how enthusiastic Brandon was over the few lines that he had written.

“Well, thank you.” He said, “I didn't think it was much of anything, but I'm happy that you're happy.” Brandon played around on his keyboard for a moment before he hit a chord that sounded right. “I wasn't shopping for a doll,” he sang before hitting another chord. “To say the least, I thought I'd seen them all.” Brandon looked up at Ronnie for approval. The drummer nodded and motioned for him to continue, then started strumming on his guitar.

“But then you took me by surprise…” Brandon smiled as he sang, but before he could get out the next line, Ronnie finished it for him.

“I'm dreaming bout those dreamy eyes.” Ronnie couldn't tell if Brandon knew the song was about him or not, but if he was in on it he didn't say anything. The two continued to play whatever came to their minds and took turns singing.

“I never knew, I never knew, so take your suitcase, ‘cause I don't mind.”

“And baby doll, I meant it every time.”

“You don't need to compromise.”

“I'm dreaming bout those dreamy eyes.”

“I never knew, I never knew.”

“But it's alright…” Brandon thought the song was over, but Ronnie kept playing, so he followed the older man’s lead. “Everything will be alright, everything will be alright, everything will be alright…” Ronnie sang this mantra until the song faded out, and when we was done he looked back at Brandon, who was smiling so wide Ronnie thought his face might get stuck like that.

“I love it, “ Brandon said. “I really do—I think it’s amazing. But it’s missing something.” The singer pondered for a minute before giving up. “I dunno. You can't rush these things. Do we have anything to eat?” Brandon stood from his spot from the floor and wandered to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Ronnie replied. “I ordered pizza earlier—it’s in the fridge.” Brandon gave a thumbs-up to the drummer and opened the fridge, finding a plate of pizza on the inside. The singer microwaved it and joined Ronnie back at the couch.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Ronnie asked, stealing a piece of Brandon’s pizza.

The singer shrugged, “I dunno. You can just stay in my bed. It worked out fine last night.” Ronnie was worried Brandon might of said that. The thought both excited and scared Ronnie.

“But-”

“Ronnie,” Brandon said, propping his feet up on the coffee table, carefully avoiding his piano. “If I were worried about it then I wouldn't of asked you to stay in the first place. You aren't sleeping on this couch—I don't even think it’s long enough for you to even do that, anyway.”

“The bed is fine, then.” Said Ronnie after he took a bite of his food, “I'm not complaining. It’s a nice bed.”

“I know, right? It’s amazing-” Brandon was cut off by the ringing of his phone. “Let me see who that is.” As Brandon rose and made his way to the phone, Ronnie remembered Dave. He was supposed to call Dave.

“Hello?” Brandon answered. Ronnie was terrified—Brandon didn't have caller ID. “Dave? Shit. Um… how are things?”

Ronnie motioned for the singer to hand him the phone. “Eat your lunch, Brandon.” The drummer took the phone and leaned against the wall.

“Dave, hello. How are things?.... Yes, I know I forgot to call—I'm sorry. Everything is fine now…. Yes, I'm still at his house. I'm gonna being staying with him for a while….” Brandon listened to the one-sided conversation as he ate, too tired to care that Dave was probably angry at him for breaking his promise.

“Dave, this is a step in the right direction—you should be happy about that!.... Listen, I'm sorry, again. I'll see you next week at the studio. Bran and I are cooking up some good shit.” Ronnie hung up and phone and placed it back onto the dock. “What a drag,” he joked.

“Is he mad at me?” Brandon asked sheepishly, staring at his plate.

Ronnie sighed, “Brandon, no. Dave isn't angry with you. He’s just pissed because I forgot to call him last night and he’s got a stick up his ass.” Brandon nodded and finished his pizza. Ronnie proceeded to go to Brandon’s refrigerator and grabbed every bottle of beer he could.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked, standing from the sofa.

“You won't be tempted if it’s not there.” Ronnie shut the fridge’s door with his foot and headed for the sink, “now, are you gonna help me pour this out or not? It’ll make you feel better.” They gave a toast for each set of bottles before they disposed of them until the apartment was devoid of alcohol, and the evening was filled with laughter and cheer.

Once they were done it had gotten late (which was because Brandon had a lot of beer and it took forever to uncap and dispose of all of them) and Brandon announced that he would the late shift at the hotel he worked at for the remainder of his time there. The singer was exhausted, but was holding on to the fact that he would get to sleep in the next day. After the singer left with the promise of being back sometime in the early morning, Ronnie decided to return to his house to get more of his things and to explain to his roommates where he had been. They didn't seem to care that the drummer was deserting them for an alcoholic, so Ronnie packed his bags and left promptly. When he got back to Brandon’s apartment, he neatly stacked his suitcases in the closet that the singer kept his piano in. Afterwards, Ronnie decided to shower (Brandon had surprisingly good water pressure), then retired to his side of Brandon’s bed.

 

Ronnie woke up later that night to the sight of Brandon’s silhouette illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the window. Ronnie decided to stay quiet, and thought the singer looked beautiful as he stripped off the dirty button-down he had been wearing. Brandon put on a T-shirt and crawled into bed next to Ronnie, sighing deeply. Ronnie’s smile was hidden by the darkness of the room—this he could get used to.

 

 

 

**Chapter IV: _You Gotta Help Me Out_**

 

Brandon stirred in his sleep in the morning; still too early for him to get up. The clock on the nightstand read as five thirty-four, so he snuggled deeper into the warmth of his bed. It was then when the singer realized that his bed had never been that warm before. Brandon peered into the low-light and realized that he was nuzzled against his drummer, who had his arm around Brandon and was fast asleep. Deciding that he liked the closeness he shared with Ronnie, Brandon laid his head across the drummer’s chest and dozed off again, feeling safe in Ronnie’s hold.

A few hours later at eight, Ronnie woke up to find the singer gripping onto his torso. The drummer immediately felt guilty, knowing that Brandon didn't want to be in a relationship. Ronnie decided that leaving would be the best action to take, but when he began to inch away from the sleeping man Brandon mumbled in his sleep and pulled Ronnie closer. Ronnie wanted to scream. The drummer decided to just lay there until Brandon either let go or woke up—the latter came first. Brandon’s bright doe eyes slid open and found their way to Ronnie’s. The singer’s tired smile made his heart melt. The older man didn't know what to do; should he explain that it was an accident? Before the drummer could explain himself, Brandon spoke.

“Good morning,” Ronnie was confused.

“Good morning,” he repeated. “It’s only eight—shouldn't you go back to sleep?”

“I should…” Brandon said before nuzzling deeper into Ronnie’s chest. “But I wanna stay with you.” Ronnie wanted to die—he was in love.

“If I stay with you will you go to sleep?” Ronnie ran his hand through Brandon’s soft hair, sending shivers down the boy’s spine.

Brandon leaned into the drummer’s touch, “Mhmm… maybe.” The two laid like that for the longest time, leaving Ronnie to contemplate his situation. His heart ached for something more from Brandon, but he didn't want to push the boy away.

After staying in a comfortable silence for a while, Brandon pushed away and lazily rummaged through a drawer in his nightstand until he found a carton of cigarettes and his blue lighter. The singer lit his cigarette and brought it to his pink lips before settling back into the crook of Ronnie’s neck. The drummer crinkled his nose in disgust when the foul smoke reached him, but said nothing; Brandon didn’t seem to notice, so he continued. Despite the smell, Ronnie thought Brandon looked amazing, more mature. He was head-over-heels in love. He wished that this week would never end so he didn't have to go back to London and be around his other two bandmates. It’s not like Ronnie disliked Mark and Dave, but he knew that with them around he and Brandon couldn't be so intimate. However, the drummers plan to win over Brandon seemed to be working, so he shut his eyes and listened to the singer’s peaceful breathing.

 

After both men had gotten up, Ronnie found himself running errands for Brandon. He was glad to do it though—originally Brandon himself was going to go but the drummer insisted on going for him since he had work that night. The singer had given him a list of things he needed (such as nectarines, shampoo, toothpaste, etcetera) and sent Ronnie off. Brandon felt kind of bad for letting Ronnie do this for him, but he was tired; if he was going to work that night he didn't want to go shopping. So Ronnie gladly helped Brandon with his shopping, but the singer still felt like he was being too needy.

When Ronnie returned he heard a sweet synth line from outside as he fumbled with his key (the one from the plant had made its way to Ronnie’s keyring). Upon entering, the drummer found Brandon sitting by the coffee table again, playing a chord then writing it down. The singer gleamed at Ronnie when he went in, but continued the work he was doing. Ronnie imagined that Brandon was working on the song, Everything Will Be Alright, that they were playing the previous day. They had named the song earlier that morning; Ronnie wanted to call it Exitlude, but Brandon had said that they needed an Enterlude to go with it and suggested to name the song after it’s chorus. The drummer agreed, but only after Brandon promised they could have an “Enterlude and Exitlude” on the next album.

“How’s it going?” Ronnie asked, setting his bags down on the counter.

“Good!” The singer replied from his spot on the floor, “but it still needs something. I'm sorry for making you go out for me.”

“Brandon,” Ronnie sad. “If you say sorry one more time, I'm going to throw a nectarine at you. I swear to God I will.” He raised his hand with a single nectarine in it.

“Well…” Brandon said, cautiously, “I love nectarines, I'm-FUCK!” The singer was pelted by his favorite fruit, but quickly recovered. “I didn't even say it!” Said Brandon as he unpeeled the fruit and plucked a piece into his mouth.

“But you were going to,” Ronnie said, returning to the living area and laying down on the couch across from Brandon. “And the thought is enough for me.”

Later, at ten in the night, Brandon bid Ronnie farewell and left in his car. An hour after that, the drummer went to sleep, wishing that the singer was there with him. But, five hours into his slumber, Brandon returned. The bedroom door cracked open, letting in a stream of artificial light from the hall; Brandon peered in.

“Ronnie? Are you asleep?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to come here for a sec.”

“Brandon, are you aware that it is three in the morning?”

“I figured out how to finish the song and I wanna show you. Come here.”

Ronnie sighed, “Can you show me in the morning?”

Brandon whined by the door, “Ronnie…”

Grumbling, Ronnie threw the blanket over his body and reluctantly rose. He slowly stumbled to the door and followed the skipping boy to the living room. Ronnie sat on the couch as usual, and Brandon plopped himself down on the floor behind his keyboard. Playing the same notes as he always did, he began to sing, “I believe in you and me… I'm coming to find you… If it takes me all night… Wrong until you make it right… And I won't forget you… At least I'll try… and run, and run tonight.” He played the rest of the song the way they always did, and when he finished he looked at the drummer with expectant eyes.

Ronnie yawned, “it sounds great, it really does- but can we go to sleep now?”

Brandon nodded, turning off his keyboard and following Ronnie to their bedroom. Once again, he changed his clothes, then got in bed next to Ronnie, resuming the position they laid in the day before. Brandon's head on the drummer’s chest, Ronnies arm around Brandon.

They loved every second of it.

 

The next day continued in a similar way, starting with the two men lying lazily in bed and Brandon eventually pulling out a cigarette. Again, they did what they had done the day before except Brandon was the one who left instead of Ronnie. When the singer returned, Ronnie was flabbergasted. All Brandon had done was get a haircut, but it changed his appearance in so many ways. His had been cut from its shaggy length and was styled up, revealing blonde streaks at the tips from where he and Dave had bleached their hair together.

Ronnie had never wanted to kiss the boy more than he did at that moment.

That night when Brandon returned home, he nuzzled into the drummer like he usually did and Ronnie played with his hair for what seemed like hours. Ronnie's heart ached for more—he wanted to be able to love Brandon. Ronnie even wanted things that seemed so innocent and insignificant, like giving the singer a sweet kiss before he left for work. The drummer wanted Brandon more than anything else. But, just like anything else, he had to work for it—and it was killing him.

 

Two days later, they found themselves having dinner on Brandon’s couch.

“You need a dining table, dude.” Ronnie said, taking a bite of his orange chicken.

“Nah,” Brandon said, stretching his legs and propping them up on his coffee table. “This is fine. When are we going to The Hearse?” The Hearse was a recording studio in California; the band was planning on meeting there to finish their album.

“It only takes an hour to fly there. I’m gonna buy the tickets when Dave gives me the money.” Ronnie saw no problem with his statement.

“No!” Brandon exclaimed, looking panicked. “I don't want to fly to Berkeley.”

Ronnie looked confused, “What do you mean? There isn't another way, Brandon-” The singer smirked smugly at Ronnie. “-Brandon no. No.” Brandon’s smile did not fade. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Brandon pouted like a child trying to get his way, “I don't wanna go in the plane, Ron. We’ll have fun!”

“Brandon, I don't want to drive you ten hours to California- STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!” Ronnie tried to hide his smile behind an annoyed facade.

“I never said you had to drive the whole way, Ronald.” Brandon picked through his rice, looking sad, “We can drive through Reno—I've never been.”

“No offense, Brandon, but I wouldn't trust you to drive me to the McDonald’s down the road,” Ronnie said.

“Hey!” Brandon took offense, “I drove from Nephi to Vegas when I was sixteen—that’s four hours!”

“Brandon,” Ronnie placed his hand on the singer’s knee. “You can't even park straight.”

“Nobody is perfect!” Brandon reasoned.

“You can't avoid planes forever,” Ronnie said seriously.

The singer’s face fell, “I know. I've been looking into getting some pills or something to help with that.” He sighed—if he wanted to live his dream he couldn't evade planes forever, “I heard if you take two allergy pills you knock right out but I really don't want to purposely overdose on something I don't need in the first place.”

“I'll figure out something for you before we leave for London again,” Ronnie reassured Brandon, who grew silent.

“Does this mean you'll drive me to Berkeley?” Ronnie groaned.

"Yes, I'll drive you to Berkeley. We'll have to leave sooner, though." Ronnie pondered for a moment, "We're supposed to be there next Saturday, so we can get up early on Friday and stay in a motel when we get there. Is that good with you?"

Brandon thought about it for a minute, “that sounds amazing.” He looked Ronnie in the eye, "thank you, Ron. I really appreciate this. We’ll have fun, I promise.” Ronnie was both excited and nervous about his road trip with Brandon.

Their week went by at a steady pace—not too slow or fast. Nothing much happened, and Ronnie honestly felt a little bored. The only moment of excitement happened when Ronnie stayed up until three in the morning on Brandon’s last day of work. The drummer surprised him with two wine glasses filled with Brandon’s favorite soft drink: Coke. Ronnie found himself enjoying his time at the singer’s apartment now that Brandon wasn't tired all the time. He also preferred Brandon going to bed with him at a decent time, and Ronnie found that one of his favorite times of day was the morning when he and Brandon would enjoy each other’s company in bed.

The week continued, however, and Ronnie found himself waiting by his truck for Brandon to lock his apartment so that they could leave for California. The singer fiddled with his keys at the door, then made sure that his car was locked before joining Ronnie by the truck. Ever since his car was stolen a year or two prior, Brandon was always paranoid that someone was going to take his new one. Having very little money to begin with, it made sense in Ronnie’s mind that Brandon worried about these things, but the singer could get a little obsessive sometimes.

A pair of black aviator sunglasses sat atop Brandon's head. Under his denim jacket, the singer wore a Morrissey tour shirt; Ronnie would later learn was from 1997 when Brandon was sixteen. They both climbed into Ronnie's truck and, after putting his sunglasses on correctly, Brandon flashed the drummer his crooked smile. Ronnie didn't think Brandon could get any more adorable.

Luckily, Ronnie's truck had a cassette player, so Brandon brought enough cassettes to fill the ten hour ride. As he drove, Ronnie listened to Brandon’s sweet voice as he sang along to the tapes from his childhood. Brandon’s voice now was different from the one he used on stage—he was more laid back. He didn't need to do anything to impress the drummer, so Brandon’s voice was soft and looser than what Ronnie was used to. That didn't mean he didn't like it, though; knowing that he was one of the few people that witnessed the younger man like this, the drummer considered himself lucky. Ronnie didn't know the words to all of the songs that Brandon had, but when a familiar one came up he would sing along. Apart from that, the drummer mostly stayed quiet during his drive. Obviously, Brandon couldn't sing forever, so his soft voiced hushed and with no one to change the tapes, so did the car. Ronnie spared the singer a glance once he got the chance and saw that Brandon was asleep, his sunglasses pushing uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose and his mouth slightly agape. Ronnie chuckled at the sight and kept driving.

Eventually the sun fell and Ronnie grew tired of driving. Miraculously, the drummer saw a sign leading to an abandoned airfield. He pulled off the highway and parked far enough away from the road that the light pollution from the cars would not obstruct their view of the stars. After unbuckling his seatbelt, the drummer lightly nudged Brandon, who mumbled something to Ronnie.

“Brandon, wake up,” Ronnie said as he shook Brandon. “The stars are out.”

Brandon peeked at the drummer with bleary eyes and a tired voice, “aren’t they always?”

“Well, duh,” the drummer said. “But have you ever really looked at them?” The singer gave Ronnie a skeptical look. “Have you ever seen the lights?” Brandon sluggishly rolled down his window and stuck his head out. A huge grin broke out on his face—he had not seen stars like that in a very long time; not since he lived in Utah. Not even the stars in London compared to the ones he saw now.

Brandon unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door to get a better view and Ronnie did the same. The drummer rummaged through the truck’s backseat for a moment before finding two blankets. He spread one across the hood of the truck and was about to do the same with the other until he saw Brandon. The singer stood in the middle of the runway, his head arched back as he stared at the sky above. Brandon’s arms were wrapped around his torso and he was shivering. Ronnie walked up behind the cold singer and draped his second blanket across his shoulders. Brandon looked back in surprise and the drummer took his hand, leading him back to the truck. Ronnie helped the shorter man onto the hood before climbing up himself.

The two laid like that for a few moments before Brandon pointed to the sky and exclaimed, “Look, Ron! A shooting star—make a wish!” The singer clenched his eyes shut to make his wish, but Ronnie simply turned to stare at him. Brandon’s features were illuminated by the moon and he had a look of peace on his face as he searched his soul for his wish. When he was finished, the singer opened his dark eyes and looked to Ronnie.

“What did you wish for?” Ronnie was looking at it, but decided to humor him.

“If I tell you it won't come true,” he said, smirking.

Realization washed across Brandon’s face, “oh, yeah. I guess that’s true. Better not tell me, then.”

Ronnie turned his gaze back to the stars, “I’m sure you'll find out one day.”

“Ronnie,” the singer said seriously. “I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out what you just asked that star for.” Ronnie’s face now had a look of pure joy, and his eyes slid closed.

“I don't doubt it, Brandon,” he said. “Not for a single moment.” Their hands were laying right next to each other, and Ronnie was dying to close the gap, but he didn't.

 

Later that night after leaving the airfield, Ronnie found their motel. He parked, paid for their room, and escorted Brandon and their luggage inside. The room had two beds, an incredibly small kitchen, a small table to eat at, and two sets of nightstands. Wordlessly, the drummer decided that he would claim the bed on the far end of the room, leaving the other one for Brandon. After an hour of getting settled, both men went to sleep. Ronnie was incredibly close to falling asleep, but then Brandon opened his mouth.

“Ronnie? Are you awake?” Brandon asked from the darkness.

“Yeah,” the drummer replied, tired.

“Can I come over there?” Ronnie was confused for a moment before realizing what the singer was asking. After two weeks of sharing his bed with Ronnie, the drummer assumed Brandon would be glad to have his own bed, but he was wrong. Brandon was lonely.

Ronnie chuckled softly and pat the empty room next to him, “Get over here, kid.” Brandon quickly got out of his bed and scurried over to Ronnie’s. The drummer held out his arm and Brandon crawled in next to him. Ronnie pulled the singer in closer to his body and Brandon rested his head on his chest.

The singer sighed deeply, “Goodnight, Ronnie.”

“Goodnight, Brandon. I-” Ronnie nearly said the three words that had been bubbling up inside him for a month, but he caught himself. “I'll see you in the morning.”

 

The following day, Ronnie was ejected from his slumber by sunbeams streaming through the window. It was eleven in the morning, which was a late time to be waking up, but the drummer brushed it off since he was so tired the night before. He and Brandon had to be at the studio at one, so they didn't have time to lay around like they usually did. Ronnie nudged the sleeping singer, “Brandon, wake up.”

Brandon stirred, but didn't open his eyes, “Nooo…”

“We have to be at the studio in two hours—we can't stay in bed forever,” Ronnie said softly. “Look what we have become—I was a functioning member of society before I met you. Now I'm a couch potato… a bed potato!”

Brandon giggled, “yeah… that’s true.”

Shortly after, the two got up and got ready. Before going to the studio, Ronnie had the idea to eat breakfast at a dinner that was close by. Brandon ordered waffles.

When they arrived at the studio, their other two bandmates were there waiting; Brandon felt nervous for a reason he couldn't pinpoint.  It might of been because he had not seen Dave since before the incident at Brandon’s apartment; it might of been because he and Ronnie were debuting the last song for the album.

“Brandon!” Dave exclaimed when Ronnie and the singer entered the studio, “Long time no see! How have you been? I wouldn't know since you don't answer my calls,” Dave embraced Brandon, who returned the gesture.

“Well, you know me,” Brandon said. “I can't afford caller ID.”

“I still don't understand how someone can't afford caller ID,” Ronnie interjected. “It’s not like it's a new thing—I'm pretty sure most phones come with caller ID.”

From the other side of the room Mark chuckled lightly and a man familiar to The Killers entered. The man had tattoos adorning his arms and a bald head- his name was Jeff Saltzman. He was the owner of The Hearse, and had been helping the boys record their album throughout most of 2003.

Having already spoken to Mark and Dave when they arrived, Jeff turned his attention to Ronnie and Brandon. “Hello, boys,” he said as he clapped both of their shoulders. “I heard you drove here—does this have anything to do with a phone call Braden told me about a few weeks back?” Braden was the band’s hot headed manager. Once Brandon had landed in Vegas after his horrific plane ride home from London, the singer had called Braden and proclaimed that the band would never fly again.

Brandon chuckled nervously, “Oh, you know Braden,” he said. “Always blowing things out of proportion.”

“That’s true,” Jeff agreed. “Anyway, Dave told me you two were cooking up something for Hot Fuss.” Oh, Brandon had almost forgotten about that.

“Yeah, it’ll be the last one on the album. Ronnie and I worked on it,” the singer said. “We can't play the whole thing because Dave doesn't know the guitar part and Ronnie is on drums, but it’s mostly done.” The producer motioned for the band to file into the recording room where the instruments were kept. Once he was ready to begin, Ronnie looked to Brandon to see if he was ready. After a moment of hesitation, they began. Before the second chorus, Ronnie stopped playing his tambourine and reached for his guitar. Still tapping the foot pedal on his drums, Ronnie began to strum. As he sang, Brandon smiled at the sight of Ronnie’s intense concentration.

Once they were done, the room went silent; Brandon began to worry that no one said anything because they hated it. Finally, Dave spoke, “Well, I would've never thought of it—that’s for sure.”

Brandon was confused, “Is that good?”

“Yes,” Jeff said. “That’s very good—it’s beautiful. You two did a very good job.” The singer beamed at Ronnie.

With the album technically finished except for a professional recording of Everything Will Be Alright, the band could celebrate before going back to England. Brandon thought celebrating was a good idea until Dave suggested going to a bar a little ways down the road. The thought made the singer freeze, and he realized that he had not had anything to drink in the almost month that Ronnie had been staying with him. Ronnie noticed Brandon’s sudden apprehension and distanced himself from the conversation so he could talk to him. The drummer slipped into the lobby with Brandon and bent down slightly to look him in the eye.

“Are you okay?” Ronnie asked. Brandon tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. “Listen, every once in awhile it’s okay, but if you don't want to go I'll stay with you.”

“I don't want to seem rude, though,” The singer reasoned.

“Then we can both go and I'll make sure you don't drink too much. Or, I can make sure you don't drink at all- it’s your choice.”

Brandon thought about it for a moment, “Maybe… just a glass of wine. I don't wanna ruin anyone else’s fun.” So that’s what Brandon did- he went to the bar and once the actual glass was in his hand, he only stared at it. Ronnie, of course, noticed the look of dull fear in his eyes, but Brandon simply flashed him a short, small smile and took a sip. The thing Brandon didn't know was how sensitive to alcohol someone became once they went dry for a month. The second the sweet wine went down his throat, Brandon felt a lightness he had not felt in what seemed to be forever. Eventually the singer slumped back into the corner of the booth he shared with his friends, still taking slow sips of his first (and only) glass. Ronnie, who was sitting next to him, kept a close eye on the silent man, but did not take the glass from him—the drummer couldn’t anticipate what reaction Brandon would have if he were to do so.

During a lull in the conversation, Dave pointed aimlessly into the crowd. “Does anyone here… suit you, Ronnie?” The drummer in question raised a brow at Dave.

“What does that mean?” He asked after taking a sip from his glass.

Dave shrugged, “I dunno… I just know you haven't seen anyone recently. Maybe we can take you to a gay strip club. I’m sure there’s one in the town-”

“You aren't taking me to a strip club, Dave. I'm fine,” Ronnie glanced at Brandon— no one noticed.

“There are probably some guys in this place that you’d like. I mean look at that dude-” Dave pointed to a man with vibrantly colored hair, “-he totally looks gay!” Ronnie stared at the man then looked back at Dave.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dave threw his arms up in the air.

“I’M TRYING!”

Brandon, who had been drinking quietly for most of his time at the bar, decided to join the conversation. The singer leaned over to Ronnie and placed his head in the crook of the drummer’s neck, giggling uncontrollably. Dave snorted at the sight, then hid his smirk behind his own glass. Brandon was completely out of it—Ronnie hoped that he wouldn't be angry with him the next morning.

He shouldn't of worried, though. Brandon could never be angry at Ronnie.

 

Another week passed, and Ronnie relished the final days he would get to stay with Brandon. He had also found the singer a medication that would help him stay calm and hopefully fall asleep when they went on their trip to London. Despite being afraid to fly, Brandon was actually excited to go back to England. This would be his first time regularly touring, and even though The Killers were just opening for another band, Brandon thought it was amazing. For the third time in two months, the band found themselves at the Las Vegas Airport. Brandon, having taken as many pills that he could without dying, was feeling quite good. He boarded the plane and fell asleep before they even took off.

Touring, however, was not as amazing as the singer imagined it to be. Cramped in a small van, the band rode across Europe and played for what seemed to be a month straight. It was the most tiring thing Brandon had ever done, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Their popularity was growing, so it wouldn't be long until they got an actual tour bus. The thought of living comfortably in a bus made Brandon a little less unhappy about being stuck in a van. There was only one thing the singer would miss about being in a van, and that was sitting next to Ronnie all day.

But he could always do that in a bus, too.

 

 

 

**Chapter V: _I'm Dreaming About Those Dreamy Eyes_**

 

Brandon did end up getting that tour bus. After opening for British Sea Power for months and releasing their debut album, Hot Fuss, the band had earned that luxury. The singer had also mostly gotten over his stage fright thanks to playing so many shows in such a short amount of time. Instead of hiding behind his keyboard, Brandon was now energetic and charismatic on stage. Despite the fatigue, Brandon's life was heading in a good direction—except for one thing. Ronnie. Due to the band being in their van and bus all the time, Brandon could never have a moment alone with the drummer. They had lost some of the spark that was ignited when the singer asked Ronnie to live with him. While they were still close, Brandon felt somewhat awkward when they were alone together.

Despite the lead singer’s boy trouble, the band was on a positive path. Today would be the day that they would be playing their first festival. The band was currently in Austin, Texas, and they were to perform at South by Southwest. They weren't headlining, but everyone was still excited to play at such a prominent event.

Mark and Dave had already gone to the venue (which wasn't anything special—just a small tent), leaving Brandon alone with Ronnie. The singer was sitting at a table in his dressing room, applying his makeup; across the room was Ronnie, who was on the couch. With a steady hand, Brandon applied his black eyeliner and Ronnie watched, intrigued.

“I've always wondered how I would look with that shit,” He said, breaking the silence.

Brandon looked surprised and glanced to the drummer for a moment before continuing his delicate work, “Oh?”

“Eh,” Ronnie said. “I never did it though, but it might be worth trying.” Brandon finished his eyeliner and smirked.

“Well…” he said. “We have time…” Ronnie shrugged and the singer practically leaped from his seat at the table.

Brandon plopped himself down next to Ronnie on the old leather couch across the mirror.

"Do you trust me," Brandon said through his grin, obviously excited at the idea of finally doing makeup on someone other than himself.

"Not at all," Ronnie sighed but found himself smirking as well, "get on with it."

Brandon giggled, "I'll be gentle, don't worry".

As Brandon uncapped the eyeliner with a smile, Ronnie watched him closely. Instead of staring at the younger boy's slender fingers adjust the height of the pencil, Ronnie admired the way Brandon's mouth hung open slightly as he concentrated on even the simplest task.

"Ready?" Brandon interrupted Ronnie's train of thought just as it wandered to the shape of Brandon's lips.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay, hold still."

Ronnie smirked again, "or what?"

"Or I'll poke you in the eye, dumbass," Brandon replied with a cheeky smile.

Brandon put his left hand on the left side of Ronnie's face. His thumb tugged slightly on the skin beside the drummer's left eye to give him a smoother path to draw on. Brandon gently put the pencil tip just below Ronnie's waterline and started lining his bottom lid slowly.

If it had been anyone but Brandon, Ronnie might have been a little worried about the pointy object dancing beneath his eye. But something about the singer's soft hands and calm demeanor kept him from freaking out. Even Brandon was stunned.

After a minute or two of silence, Brandon spoke. "Wow," he said barely above a whisper, "you haven't even flinched once."

"You think I'm afraid of a 5-foot-9 kid with eyeliner in his hand?"

"Well," Brandon swiped his thumb across the line he had just made to dull the harshness of it, "you are afraid of deodorant."

"Hey," Ronnie retorted, "it's not good for you, man."

"Sure," Brandon chuckled.

The comfortable silence between them soon returned. Ronnie felt the gentle swipes beneath his eye as he studied Brandon's face. Again, he found his thoughts drifting to Brandon's lips. They weren't huge or plump or anything, but to Ronnie they looked heavenly. They were a dark pink that sometime bordered on a soft red color. When Brandon's face was relaxed his mouth was formed in a natural pouty expression that endeared Ronnie just as much as his smile.

Better than his pout or his smile, however, was the face Brandon made when he was focused. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and his mouth hung open, his tongue dangerously close to popping out of his mouth. Ronnie noticed a pattern in the younger boy's expression: when he was drawing with the pencil his mouth hung open, but when he smudged the line he closed his mouth while his tongue peeked out from his lips. There were a terrifying four inches between them and Ronnie was so eager to grab Brandon by the sides of his head and kiss him. Instead, he chose to distract himself.

"Now, your makeup looks like it's right beneath your eye, y'know?" Ronnie said softly, "but it feels like you're drawing way below my eye. Is your aim off or are you scared I'm gonna look better than you if you do it right?"

"No," Brandon replied, "my eyes are different than yours so I do it differently."

"How so?" At this point Ronnie just wanted to keep the conversation going so that he didn't focus on Brandon's mouth again.

"You see," Brandon was still speaking softly, "putting dark liner on your waterline makes the eyes seem smaller, while putting it right below it makes the eyes seem larger. People with bigger eyes, like me, sometimes like the way their eyes look when they are smaller so that's why I put mine where I do."

"Oh," Ronnie decided he was in love with him, "interesting."

After a short moment of silence, Brandon spoke again.

"But your eyes are too pretty to be made smaller."

Ronnie's heart melted completely right then and there.

"Wow," Ronnie needed to break the tension or he felt like he might choke, "you need to stop reading Teen Vogue, bro."

Brandon laughed loudly and briefly took the pencil off Ronnie's face, "And you need to stop reading deodorant conspiracies." Ronnie quickly flicked Brandon's temple in response.

"Ow!" Brandon exclaimed before placing the pencil beneath Ronnie's other eye. "Watch yourself I still have the power to make you look like a mess," he licked his thumb and smudged the line, "I guess that's not too difficult to do though."

"Shut up," Ronnie spoke through a smile.

"Make me," Brandon whispered back.

Ronnie's heart began to race. God, he felt pathetic. Two words from Brandon and he felt like a lovestruck teenager.

The silence returned, but it was deafening this time. The tension between them had never been so noticeable and Ronnie was wondering how much longer he'd have to suffer. It seemed like it was taking a lot longer for Brandon to do his make up than it usually took the boy to do his own. Of course, the drummer had no idea that Brandon was purposely making small mistakes and fixing them to prolong the time they spent close to each other.

And then, as if things couldn't get any worse for Ronnie, Brandon began to hum. It wasn't a song Ronnie knew, but it felt like his new favorite song. It was a simple gliding melody, probably a synth part the singer was working on. It seemed to loop perfectly as Ronnie couldn't really decipher the beginning or the end of the tune. Most people would describe it as beautiful, but Ronnie thought it was angelic.

It was an unconscious habit of Brandon's. Ronnie had heard Brandon humming since the day they met. Brandon was always shy, and meeting the outgoing, boisterous Ronnie made him nervous that the older man wouldn't like him. Ronnie heard Brandon humming to himself as the guys all introduced themselves. Soon after, Ronnie heard Brandon humming to himself backstage at their first gig with Ronnie. His knee was bouncing and his head was in his hand as he looked over the setlist. Since then, the humming before shows stopped as he gained more confidence. The humming was an unconscious, nervous habit.

Ronnie's heart skipped. Brandon was nervous. Brandon was nervous as he sat in the painful tension of his last flirty remark. Brandon felt the same tension Ronnie did. Brandon felt the same.

"Okay," Brandon sighed, "you're all set. Take a look."

Ronnie stood up from the couch and followed Brandon to the large dressing room mirror.

"Oh wow," Ronnie looked himself over, "my eyes do look a lot bigger." He chuckled, "I look kinda badass." He looked at Brandon in the mirror. For a brief second, he saw the younger boy looking at him with the kindest eyes and the gentlest smirk on his face. The boy caught Ronnie's gaze and tried to pretend nothing happened.

"You're welcome, Ron." The singer walked away from the mirror and plopped down the couch again. "Now, how long until Dave comes and yells at us for not being ready."

"Not sure b-", there was a loud, banging knock on the door. "Holy shit, are you psychic?" Ronnie made his way to the door and opened it, revealing a pissed looking Dave. When he saw Ronnie’s appearance he stared for a moment, but said nothing.

“Do you realize that we go on in twenty minutes?” Ronnie looked back to Brandon, who was still lounging on the couch.

“Right on time, then!” The singer looked himself over in the mirror one last time before joining the other two men at the door, “we can get going now.” Dave scoffed, then lead the two men backstage.

 

Sweat dripped off Brandon’s skin and stuck to the clothes he wore. He was exhausted, but exhilarated. The singer trudged back to his bus along with this rest of the band, who was chatting about the show they had just performed and other things that Brandon didn't care enough about to listen to. Suddenly, a name popped out of the conversation that Brandon would recognize until the day he died.

Dave spoke casually, “I talked to Braden earlier—he said he would let us know for sure if we were opening for Morrissey in New York by tomorrow.”

“Isn't that next month?” Ronnie asked. Brandon noted that the makeup under his eyes were smudged.

“Yeah,” Dave replied. “If he says no we’ll just go home for a month—I need a vacation.”

Brandon shook his head, “I don't wanna think about that right now.”

“About what?” Ronnie asked, “Morrissey?”

“Specifically him saying no. I just want to go to bed.” Brandon skipped up the steps to their bus and unlocked the door, quickly disappearing inside; the band followed.

The singer went to bed almost immediately, but the other three stayed up a bit longer. Eventually, Mark retired to his bunk- Dave followed soon after. With no one else to talk to, Ronnie decided to do the same.

 

_"Make me," Brandon whispered back._

_If this was an offer, Ronnie wasn't going to pass up his chance. He pulled away from Brandon's touch slightly and looked the singer deep in the eyes. He saw the younger man's mouth turn into a slight smirk, a look that told Ronnie to go for it._

_Ronnie put his hands on the side of Brandon's head and slowly closed the gap between them. When their lips touched, Ronnie felt a shock in every part of his body. It was soft and gentle but electric at the same time. They pulled away from each other for a moment. Brandon's lips were still pursed and his pupils were blown wide. He looked absolutely delectable and Ronnie couldn't control himself anymore._

_The drummer pulled Brandon to his lips again, not so gently this time. Brandon made a small noise of surprise that was muffled by the older man's lips. Brandon put his hands on Ronnie's chest to steady himself easier. They moved in heated unison as Ronnie slowly moved one hand to the back of Brandon's neck and the other to his back._

_Brandon decided they were too far apart. Without pulling away from the kiss, he used the hands on Ronnie's chest to guide the drummer back against the arm of the couch. Ronnie was now leaning against the couch with his legs on the cushions. The younger boy was kneeling in between his legs as his lips moved against Ronnie's.  Brandon lifted himself up slightly and sat himself on Ronnie's lap as the drummer slid his tongue into the boy's mouth._

_Ronnie felt like he was getting drunk on the sounds Brandon was making into his mouth. With every hum or soft whine of pleasure, Ronnie felt himself grow harder under the singer. Soon, the singer was unconsciously rocking himself against the bulge beneath him, eliciting soft grunts from the drummer. Ronnie slowly moved his hands down Brandon's back so that they were rested on the younger boy's ass. He used his hands to guide Brandon as he grinded down on him. It wasn't until Ronnie noticed how hard Brandon was that he decided to change their positions._

_In a quick movement, Ronnie switched their positions so that Brandon was laying on the couch and Ronnie was hovering over him. They continued to kiss like that for a few minutes, Brandon's hands finding their way into the drummer's hair._

_Ronnie pulled away and, before Brandon could protest, started to kiss Brandon's neck._

_Brandon gasped, "Fuck...Ronnie."_

_Ronnie took one of his hands and ran it through Brandon's hair, using it to tilt the singer's head to the side for easier access. He didn't care that they had a show in a few minutes. He wanted the world to know that Brandon was his and all his. Ronnie began turning his light kissing into licks, sucks, and soft bites. Brandon was practically writhing beneath Ronnie's touch._

_"Oh," Brandon half-whispered-half-whined, "Ronnie, please."_

_Ronnie wanted more. The soft noises and pleas Brandon were making made his head spin, but he needed more. He took one hand and started palming Brandon through his pants. Immediately, Brandon let out a shaky moan. The singer's hands flew up to grab Ronnie by the biceps._

_"Please," Brandon whined, "don't stop." Ronnie nearly moaned aloud when he watched Brandon push himself up into his touch. The marks he was leaving on Brandon's neck started to form in light pink and purplish masses that stood in contrast against Brandon's pale skin. He tugged on Brandon's hair with his right hand as he applied more pressure to Brandon's achingly hard dick with his left hand._

_"Ron...oh, Ron," Brandon was moaning desperately now. Ronnie knew how bad Brandon needed to be touched because he felt the same way._

_As if Brandon could read his mind, the singer's hands began fumbling at Ronnie's belt. Ronnie groaned against Brandon's neck as he felt the younger boy undoing his buckle._

_"Fuck me, Ronnie," Brandon gasped and continued to grind into the drummer's touch, "please. I need you, Ron. Oh god, Ronnie, Ronnie!"_

"Ronnie," _the singer's voice was still there but it sounded different_ , "Ronnie! Wake up!"

With a jolt, Ronnie found himself awake in his small tour bunk. Before he could process what he just experienced, the same sound he heard seconds before was right outside his bunk curtain.

"Ronnie, wake up!"

Ronnie slowly pulled the curtain back, careful not to expose the obviously excited lower half of his body.

"Oh! Hey," Brandon smiled, "we were going to go grab some breakfast at the café down the street. The guys wanted me to let you sleep but I figured I'd at least try to wake you."

Ronnie examined the boy in front of him: his neck was completely unmarked, his hair was freshly styled, he smelled of a cologne that Ronnie didn't recognize.

"I mean, I can bring you something back if you wanna go back to sleep," Brandon licked his lips, "it's up to you."

"No, no," Ronnie felt like he was finally snapping out of his haze, "save me a seat at the table, I'll meet you there."

"Okay, I'll get you a coffee," Brandon chuckled, "you look like you'll need it." He left with a small laugh.

Ronnie was alone again. He pulled the pillow out from under his head and covered his head. He ran over the images that had played in his heads moments before. Brandon on top of him, Brandon under him, the feeling of Brandon's lips, the sounds Brandon made, touching Brandon, Brandon touching him. He swore into the pillow before returning it to the underside of his head.

After a few more agonizing minutes of being alone with his thoughts, Ronnie reluctantly left his bunk and made his way to the shower. While he was looking forward to this alone time so that he could relieve himself, he also needed the time to plan a way to survive a breakfast right next to the man he just had a wet dream about. Luckily, Brandon had not seemed to notice Ronnie’s state; so as long as the drummer acted normal, he would avoid embarrassment.

 

When he arrived at the café, Ronnie scanned the room to find his bandmates. The feat was remarkably easy thanks to Dave’s full head of hair and Mark’s height, but Ronnie hesitated. The drummer’s heart began to ache when he saw Brandon, smiling along to the conversation and eating his beloved waffles. It reminded Ronnie of the trip to Berkeley they had gone on at a time when he and the singer were closer. He didn't understand why a rift had been driven between them—nor did he like it. Eventually, Brandon noticed him and beamed, waving him over.

Once he was at the table, a waitress quickly (due to the lack of customers) took Ronnie’s order and he was eating within fifteen minutes. The table’s conversation was mundane… until Brandon heard his cell phone ring.

“Who is it?” Ronnie asked, peering over the table. Dave looked annoyed.

“You know he can't answer that, Ronnie.” Brandon glared at Dave and answered the phone, mouth full of waffle.

“Hello? Braden?” Brandon sat in a silence as he listened to what his manager had to say, but then all Hell broke loose.

Brandon would be opening for his idol. On stage. In front of thousands of people. Those thousands of people may not of been there to see The Killers, but it would be the largest crowd they would of ever played for. Brandon, however, did not care about how many people would be there—the only person that mattered was the man himself, Morrissey.

Brandon was vibrating with excitement. He couldn't get a word out to Braden, so Dave took the phone from the shaking singer. Ronnie could tell that Brandon was holding back his excitement in order to not disturb the few other customers in the diner, but he was failing. The drummer offered Brandon his hand and asked if he wanted to get some fresh air; Brandon hurriedly complied. Once outside, the singer jumped and squealed in elation before tightly wrapping his arms around Ronnie.

Standing on the balls of his feet with his head resting on Ronnie’s shoulder, he said, “I feel like I could cry.”

The drummer held firmly onto Brandon, “if you do that you’ll mess up your makeup.” Brandon chuckled and released Ronnie.

“That would be pretty bad,” He said. For a minute, the two stood in a tense silence that felt like it lasted for hours. Ronnie thought back on the month that he had stayed with Brandon again—it must have been at least five months, but if felt like years. The closeness that he had with Brandon was returned to him for only a moment, but that moment restored Ronnie’s faith in their relationship.

Dave met them outside with Mark in tow, “So, are we all on the same page about this?” The whole band nodded to him, “We’re opening for Morrissey, then. It’s final.” Feeling generous, Brandon decided to give another hug, this time for the guitarist. The singer nearly tackled him, knocking the air out of Dave’s lungs. As Brandon expressed his gratitude with a string of “Thank You”s, Ronnie felt a crushing feeling in his heart. Maybe Brandon was just feeling happy that day- that would explain why he went around hugging everyone he saw. Dejected, Ronnie followed his bandmates back to their bus. He watched with sad eyes as the singer skipped down the sidewalk with a giddiness he had not seen in months.

Maybe the month they spent together meant nothing.

Maybe wishing on stars was something that only desperate children did.

Maybe Brandon meant “no” when he had said “maybe”.

 

Once Ronnie had stopped trying to catch Brandon’s attention every day, his month went by quicker than they had before. The drummer was still madly in love, but he had realized that as long as the band was around, he would get nowhere with the singer. Before he knew it, he was backstage in New York City, about to open for Morrissey. Brandon looked nervous, and hummed a tune Ronnie had never heard before. It didn't loop beautifully like the one he had hummed a month ago, but it sounded angry—yet passionate. Every once in awhile the drummer would hear a few words slip out—something about a bullet and a masquerade. Ronnie still thought the song sounded good, but he favored the slower, sweeter one with no discernible beginning or end. Ronnie snorted, it reminded him of his lost relationship with Brandon. His bitterness quickly turned into heartache when the singer noticed his staring and grinned at him, waving from across the room. The drummer really needed to decide if he was going to continue to go after Brandon’s elusive heart. Thinking of the mornings he spent with the singer, Ronnie recalled the feelings of pure affection that he had towards Brandon. The drummer then realized how stupid he had been for deserting Brandon’s heart for the past month. He vowed that he would have Brandon by the end of the next year.

Dave called them over, telling them that they were about to go on. For the first time in forever, Brandon actually looked excited to play a show; he was glowing as he beamed at Ronnie.

Maybe the end of next year would be too long for Ronnie to wait.

 

 

 

**Chapter VI: _Then You Took Me By Surprise_**

 

After opening for Morrissey twice, starting their first headline tour, and being invited to play at festivals across the world, The Killers had become a name recognized everywhere. They were so successful that they greeted 2005 with an appearance at the Grammy’s. Brandon didn't feel good about it—he felt nervous for the first time in months.

The singer paced his dressing room, suit unbuttoned and tie dangling loosely around his neck. The reason he was terrified was because they would be walking the “green carpet” (the Grammy’s knock-off Red Carpet) on live television. And it wasn't like this was just some little league television spot—millions of people tuned in to see their favorite stars every year.

Ronnie watched as Brandon nervously ran his hands through his fluffy hair. Things had gotten a lot better between the two since opening for Morrissey the year before. Standing from his seat on the couch, Ronnie walked over and grabbed Brandon’s arm, stopping him.

“Everything will be alright, okay?” With his own words, Ronnie flinched, remembering when he repeated those same words to Brandon a long time before. The drummer couldn't believe that it had been nearly one and a half years since the first time they went to London. One and a half years since he had found Brandon in a hysterical state, broken on the kitchen floor. One and a half years of putting the pieces back together.

Brandon was nearly shaking with fear, “I don't know if I can do it, Ron.” The drummer’s grip slid from Brandon’s bicep to his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“We made it this far, didn't we? You won't be alone.” Brandon broke the contact and ran his hand through his hair again.

“This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do,” Brandon began rambling—Ronnie needed to figure of how to calm the boy down. “I’d rather get my car stolen again- I’d rather have my old job at the hotel. I don't know why I ever thought I could do this-”

And then, without thinking it through, Ronnie thought of a way to shut Brandon up. The drummer grabbed Brandon by the sides of his head gently before bringing their faces close together and pressing his lips to the singer's.

It felt right. After waiting for so long, this felt so right. His lips were as soft as Ronnie had imagined and dreamt about for so long. Ronnie felt like he was melting under the touch of Brandon's lips.

But then he pulled away. He let go of Brandon's head and looked over the singer's face. There was no emotion.

Ronnie fucked up. That night consoling a sobbing Brandon on his apartment floor meant nothing. All those nights and mornings they spent wrapped up with each other meant nothing. That night in the desert on the hood of Ronnie's truck meant nothing. The night in the motel when Brandon climbed into bed with Ronnie and held onto him all night meant nothing. Everything Will Be Alright meant nothing. It all meant nothing now, not even a friendship could come out of what Ronnie just did. Brandon never really wanted him, he was just lonely. Ronnie had ruined any chance he ever had at a relationship with Brandon. More than that, he successfully ruined a friendship that meant so much to him.

But then, Brandon grabbed Ronnie by the tie and kissed him back.

Ronnie was so relieved that all he could do was sigh into the kiss and return his hands to Brandon's head. The kiss wasn't intense, but it was so passionate. They just stood there, holding each other close in the middle of the dressing room, kissing each other softly over and over. Brandon's hands had made their way from Ronnie's tie to his lower back where the younger boy pushed his body closer to the drummer's.

Ronnie smiled into the kiss before pulling away. Before Brandon could protest, he gently wrapped his hands around the two ends of Brandon's untied bowtie. Still looking the singer deep in the eyes, Ronnie walked backwards until the back of his knees were against the couch. He sat down, shooting Brandon a look that invited him to join him.

Hesitantly, Brandon straddled Ronnie's lap. Brandon's heart began to race and he felt a nervous burn in the pit of his stomach start to flare up. He had wanted to be this close to Ronnie for so long but now that he had the chance, he couldn't stop worrying about messing it up. Ronnie didn't know that Brandon had hardly any experience with guys and Brandon wasn't too motivated to tell him. Even if Ronnie's not the kind of person to tease Brandon about that stuff, that didn't stop Brandon from feeling embarrassed that he had so little experience.

And to top it all off, the stress of walking their first Grammy “green” carpet had been twisting Brandon's stomach all day.

He looked deep into the set of hickory brown eyes in front of him. A smirk was still spread across the drummer's face as Brandon examined every part of him. The younger boy felt a flutter in his chest when he noticed the faint blush that had spread across Ronnie's cheeks. Brandon took his time to look over the man's pink lips, the same lips that made his heart race and jumbled his words just a few moments before. The only issue was that Brandon wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to leave Ronnie's lap once their lips touched again.

Brandon's thoughts were interrupted by Ronnie's hands wrapping around his hips as the older man chuckled, "You can touch me, y'know. I'm not gonna break."

He gently put one hand on Ronnie's face so that the tip of his thumb rested right next to the edge of Ronnie's lips, and his long fingers rested along Ronnie's stubbly jaw. The other hand rested on the smooth fabric over the drummer's chest, where Brandon felt that Ronnie's heart was beating just as fast as his was. Brandon's eagerness told him to grab Ronnie by the face and slam their lips together, but his nerves kept him back. So instead, he licked his lips once before making his way towards Ronnie's face.

The singer closed his eyes and felt the world around him fade away as he pressed his lips to Ronnie's once more. Brandon could tell Ronnie was letting him take control this time. The drummer obviously didn't want to push Brandon too far, but these weren't small kisses anymore and Brandon had no clue how to do this right if Ronnie wasn't guiding him. It's not like he hadn't made out with anyone before, it's just that he had never made out with Ronnie before. What if he wasn't good enough? Ronnie had been with many other people, he had way more experience. Brandon was going to let him down.

Ronnie pulled away. It was then that Brandon realized he was doing more thinking than actual kissing.

"Kid," Ronnie chuckled, "relax." He moved his hands to the sides of Brandon's head and looked him right in the eyes. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want this as bad as you." Before Brandon could defend himself Ronnie guided Brandon's head to his lips and kissed him softly on the forehead, "just follow my lead, you'll do fine."

Brandon was amazed at how comforting Ronnie's few words could be. He was usually such a jokester, but he had just spoken to Brandon as if Brandon was about to shatter. Ronnie dropped his funny-guy facade so that he could make Brandon feel better. Brandon swore he could have cried right then and there, but instead he took his emotion and turned it into confidence. Once Ronnie's hands dropped back down to Brandon's hips, Brandon leaned in again to pick up where they left off.

As Brandon was calmer, this time the kiss was much less awkward and clumsy. If Ronnie tilted his head one way, Brandon tilted it the opposite way so that they fit together perfectly. The younger boy moved one hand from Ronnie's chest to the back of the drummer's head where he used it to guide himself some more. It wasn't long until Ronnie felt Brandon using that hand to pull Ronnie deeper into the kiss.

Ronnie chuckled and pulled away again, and for a split second Brandon convinced himself he was doing something wrong again.

"You learn quick don't you", Ronnie said, slightly out of breath. Brandon watched Ronnie through half-lidded eyes as the older man licked his lips and smirked. Brandon felt his heart flutter again.

"Well," Brandon panted, "I guess I learned from the best."

As soon as Brandon finished speaking they were kissing again, and it felt a little more intense this time. Ronnie moved his hands from Brandon's hips so that he could slowly run them up and down Brandon's back. Brandon repositioned his own hands so that they were cupping the sides of Ronnie's head as they moved in unison. They were closer than they were before, but Brandon loved it. He was confident now and didn't want to stop.

When Brandon felt Ronnie slip his tongue into his mouth, he tensed up immediately. Ronnie must have felt him because he pulled away and asked Brandon, "Sorry, too fast?” Brandon tentatively shook his head and returned to the kiss.

He reciprocated by sliding his own tongue into Ronnie's mouth. Admittedly, it took Ronnie a lot to not chuckle into the younger boy's mouth at first as Brandon tried to get match Ronnie's movements. Once he did, however, Ronnie couldn't believe how amazing he was. In the midst of pleasure and shock at how surprisingly good Brandon was with his tongue, Ronnie found both of his hands wandering to the singer's ass.

Brandon let out a small whimper into Ronnie's mouth at the touch as their tongues slid against each other. Brandon had noticed the drummer's slight hard-on as soon as he sat down on his lap, but the bulge was now very obvious. Knowing that he made Ronnie feel that way was a whole new kind of exciting that Brandon didn't expect.

Soon, the singer found himself bringing Ronnie deeper into the kiss as he pulled him in by the top of his tie. Brandon didn't even notice that he had started gently grinding against Ronnie. It wasn't until he felt the older man grunt into the kiss that he noticed he had positioned himself right on Ronnie's bulge. Brandon smirked into the kiss and pushed himself down harder, causing Ronnie's grip on his ass to tighten as he guided the singer's movements.

They were both making little noises of approval as they sat there, rocking against each other and soaking each other in completely. They were so caught up in each other that they forgot about the entire award show that was ahead of them. The nerves Brandon had before melted away. In fact, everything but the feeling of Ronnie's hands and lips had melted away from his mind.

That is until they heard the door handle rattle before two hard knocks came down on the door.

“Open the door, you two! I know what you’re up too!”

Even though the door was locked, Brandon managed to launch himself across the room as soon as he heard Dave's voice. He stood in front of the large mirror while he fixed his hair before finally tying his bowtie with shaking hands. Ronnie straightened his suit out and prayed to every God above or below him that Dave wouldn't notice the obvious bulge in both of their pants. When he opened the door, he soon learned the guitarist had other concerns on his mind.

“We are going to be late if we don’t leave now! I know you're trying to hide in here so you don't have to go out there, but you have no other choice,” Dave sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “I've been waiting for an HOUR!”

"Look, I'm sorry again. We'll be out in like three seconds I promise," Ronnie shut the door before Dave could protest further. He looked at Brandon and admired his lips that now appeared pinker and plumper than usual. His eyes were wide as he fiddled with his hair and suit jacket, and expression Ronnie found both hilarious and adorable.

"Ron?" Brandon looked at Ronnie finally, "Are we about to walk our first televised red carpet completely rock hard?" Ronnie laughed out loud and Brandon did his ridiculous yuck-yuck laugh that made Ronnie's heart skip a beat since the day he first heard it.

"Yeah kid," Ronnie walked over to where Brandon was standing, cupped his face, and kissed Brandon gently, "I guess we are."

They walked side by side behind Dave through stark hallways to get outside. Mark wasn't with the band for a reason the drummer couldn't remember. Ronnie could barely conceal his smile, but when he looked to Brandon it dropped. The drummer could tell that he had become nervous again; Brandon’s hands twitched and he stared at the ground in front of him, emotionless. Ronnie wanted to hold his hand so that he knew it would be okay, be he couldn't out of the fear of someone seeing. As they walked down the halls, Brandon began to hum—this time the drummer recognized the tune. It was the song that they had written together one and a half years ago.

As they went outside, Brandon put on a false smile when cameras began flashing at them. Before, Ronnie was excited about the award show, now he couldn't wait for it to be over so that he could be alone with Brandon once again.

 

Throughout the day Ronnie and Brandon stuck closely together. Their walk on the Green Carpet went fine aside from an interviewer who asked really weird questions. During the actual award show, the band (minus Mark) all sat at their own table and watched the ceremony. They didn't win any of the categories that they were nominated for, but Ronnie didn't mind because he had won the most important award of all. Originally, the drummer’s plan was to return to the hotel they were staying at with Brandon so that they could be alone. This plan was ruined however when Mark returned for the afterparty, so it would only be polite to attend.

During the party, Ronnie was split from his friends but eventually found Brandon near the drinks table with a dazed look and a glass of champagne. The drummer walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder, making the boy jump and whirl around.

“We need to talk about something,” Ronnie said with a somewhat louder voice than usual so that Brandon could hear him over the crowd.

Brandon, obviously drunk to a certain extent replied with, “Ronald, don't worry—I'm not gonna get drunk.” He said it louder than Ronnie, which made a few people stare, but they said nothing.

“What?” Ronnie was confused for a moment, “Brandon, no. I wanted to talk about what happened earlier. We can find somewhere private.” Brandon looked at Ronnie then the glass in his hands, “you can take it with you.” Brandon beamed.

“Let’s go, then,” Brandon took Ronnie’s hand and lead him through the crowd and out the exit doors. Ronnie scanned the hallway they were in before spotting a supply closet and checking to see if it was locked—it wasn't. The closet wasn't anything special. All that was inside was a couple of brooms, cleaning supplies, and just enough room for the two to squeeze in. They were almost on top of each other, with one of Brandon’s arms wedged between him and Ronnie, touching the drummer’s chest. Brandon’s other arm was draped over Ronnie’s shoulder so that he wouldn't spill the glass of champagne that he held.

Ronnie chuckled at the odd position that they were in, but sobered and procured a serious look. “So… what are we?” Brandon stared at the drummer with a look of pure, drunk confusion.

“What do you mean?” His words were slurred and slow.

“It’s just-” Ronnie struggled to find the right thing to say. “We haven't talked about what happened in the dressing room since… well, since what happened in the dressing room.”

Brandon tilted his head to the side, “you didn't like it?”

“No! No, it's not that. I guess what I’m asking is if we’re dating.” A silly grin spread across the singer’s face.

“Well,” Brandon took a sip of his drink. “You haven't asked me out yet.”

Ronnie threw his head back and grinned. Then, looking into Brandon’s eyes, he said, “Brandon Flowers, will you go out with me?” He paused for a moment, “and if the answer is no can I change your mind?”

Brandon, with a completely serious look on his face, proceeded to say, “No.” Ronnie was confused. He was more than confused—he was hurt. Before the heartache could set in, Brandon continued. “You already did.”

Ronnie pulled the singer into a tight hug and before he knew it, they resumed what they had began in the dressing room. Ronnie’s hands wrapped around Brandon’s waist as he pulled their bodies even closer and pressed his lips to Brandon’s.

This kiss was sloppier, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Brandon's arm was still over Ronnie's shoulder, holding his precious champagne glass. The other hand that was wedged between their chests slid up to the back of Ronnie's head to grab the drummer's hair. He used his grip to guide Ronnie's lips on his. It also gave him something to gently pull on whenever Ronnie did something he loved, like when the older groaned or their tongues slid together.

Ronnie couldn't get enough of Brandon's lips. He loved the way they felt so soft and gentle, but Brandon could use them to make Ronnie fall apart so easily. The same lips that sang such ethereal melodies were in between Ronnie's lips and under his tongue.

With the very little space they had, Ronnie found that his leg was in between Brandon's thighs. He smirked against Brandon's lips for a moment before positioning his leg so that Brandon's crotch was on his thigh. As soon as the singer felt the slight contact, he began to rock against Ronnie's thigh. The material of their suit pants were pretty thin, allowing for Brandon to get a decent amount of friction as he rolled his hips. Brandon pulled away from the kiss and pressed his forehead against Ronnie's. With every movement came a small gasp or a soft and breathy curse. Ronnie thought the way Brandon was moving on his thigh was obscene, but he loved everything about it. In fact, it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen. Ronnie wanted more, so he slid his hands from Brandon's hips to his ass. This allowed him to push the younger boy down onto his leg harder, eliciting shaky moans from Brandon as he rocked his growing hard-on against Ronnie.

Ronnie had been around for awhile. But now, he could wholeheartedly say that there was nothing more beautiful than the moans of someone who uses their voice for a living.

Drunk Brandon was nearly the polar opposite of Sober Brandon. Because of this, Brandon felt a need to take over the situation again. He loved how Ronnie was making him feel, but it was time to show the drummer that he wasn't the only one in control.

Brandon took Ronnie's bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled back gently, causing a groan to escape the older man's lips. Brandon let go of Ronnie's lip and immediately began kissing him again, licking along his bottom lip occasionally.

Ronnie was overwhelmed. Without giving it a second thought, Ronnie took the hands on Brandon's ass, hooked them underneath the singer's thighs, and hoisted them up to his waist. This way, Brandon's legs were wrapped around Ronnie's waist while he was braced against the closet's wall. Brandon whined out loud as soon as his legs wrapped around the drummer, finally discarding the glass of champagne in his hand by letting it fall. Brandon even ignored the sound of breaking glass as he was too focused on moving both of his hands to Ronnie's hair, where he gently tugged on it.

Ronnie quickly realized that this position made it harder to kiss Brandon on the lips, but it did give him easy access to Brandon's neck. He brought his lips to the soft, pale skin of the singer's neck. An airy sigh came out of Brandon's mouth. Ronnie started with small and gentle pecks, then progressed to open-mouthed kisses that had Brandon whimpering. Ronnie had never had a partner as vocal as Brandon but maybe it was just the alcohol making him more responsive. Either way, Ronnie's body was definitely reacting to every noise Brandon made. Now that their crotches were touching each other, there was no hiding Ronnie's excitement from Brandon.

Brandon cried out when Ronnie began softly biting at his skin, his grip on Ronnie's hair tightening and his hips involuntarily moving forward to grind against Ronnie's. The drummer was leaving soft nibbles along Brandon's neck and soaking in the incredible sounds he was pulling from the singer when they were interrupted.

"Hey," said a gravelly voice outside the door, followed by three hard knocks, "is somebody in there?"

With a jolt, Ronnie looked up from Brandon's neck. Brandon's mouth was hanging open and his doe eyes were wide.

"Uh yeah," Ronnie started, "just getting some stuff to clean up a spill." Ronnie looked at Brandon suspiciously, to which Brandon shot him a look that told the drummer he had told a good lie.

"What? Who is this?" the voice responded. Brandon looked scared. Maybe it wasn't that good of a lie.

"I can ask you the same thing," Ronnie retorted.

"It's Moe. Steve, is that you? Are you fucking with me?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's me Steve!" Brandon bit his lip to hold in his laugh as Ronnie replied. "Hey, you mind doing me a favor? I'm a little busy in here, can you go check in on the bathrooms? Make sure none of the guests are messing with the… soap?"

Brandon mouthed, "SOAP?"

Ronnie looked offended and mouthed back, "I'M TRYING."

Moe scoffed, "I'm done for the night. I was just coming here to return my mop. Do your own job and then go fuck yourself, Steve." Brandon and Ronnie heard angry footsteps leave the area. It was then and only then that Brandon decided it was okay to laugh his ass off.

"Damn," Ronnie said through his chuckling, "what the hell did Steve do to him?"

After composing himself for after a few moments Brandon replied, "Maybe Steve just doesn't care about his job."

"But he does care about the soap."

Brandon couldn't even respond. Tears were brimming his eyes and his laughs had transformed into cackles. Ronnie was laughing too, but more so because Brandon had such a ridiculous laugh.

"Well," Ronnie said after another minute or so, "I guess we better get going."

Brandon pouted for a second, but he knew that they should get back to the other band members before they began to question.

Brandon unwrapped his legs from Ronnie's waist. He straightened out Ronnie's hair a bit and fixed his tie. Ronnie's heart fluttered at the small gesture and couldn't stop himself from giving Brandon a kiss on the forehead before turning around and pushing the closet's door open.

 

 

Ronnie peered outside and once he decided it was safe he led Brandon into the hall. Before going back into the ballroom, the singer dried his wet neck with the sleeve of his pristine, white suit.

“I need another drink,” he said, pushing open one of the double doors. Ronnie grimaced, but said nothing. He felt guilty about Brandon’s relapse in drinking; ever since they started touring last year he had noticed the singer’s steady decline. Brandon made his way through the crowd and disappeared. When he returned to Ronnie, he had a rather large glass of wine.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Brandon scoffed and took a sip of his rich drink.

“I'm celebrating!” Leaning in close to Ronnie, he said, “you should be too.”

The feeling of Brandon’s hot breath on his neck excited Ronnie, but he decided against indulging in the singer’s habit. “If I do then who will take care of you?” As if it were a sign from God, Dave and Mark walked up from behind Brandon.

“We’ve been looking for you two,” Dave said. He put an arm around Brandon and asked, “where have you been?”

Before Ronnie could think of a reasonable lie, Brandon spoke. “We’ve been messin’ with the soap.”

Dave stared at the singer, mouth agape in confusion. “How much has he had?” His question was directed to Ronnie, who shrugged with a sheepish grin, “he’s celebrating!”

Dave sighed, “well, Mark and I were planning on going back to the hotel. I think you two—or at least Bran Flakes here-—should come too.” Brandon whined and sipped on his drink.

“I agree,” Ronnie said. “Don't you, Brandon?” The singer, still pouting, looked sadly at his glass, still full. “You can't take it with you this time.”

“But I paid for it!”

“Brandon, you’ve already had enough tonight anyway-” Brandon tilted his head back and downed the drink in one long gulp. His bandmates stood and watched in horror.

“Okay!” Dave took the now empty glass from the singer and hooked their arms together, “we are leaving now!” Dave proceeded to turn and leave, Brandon stumbling behind him. Ronnie shared a concerned look with Mark and followed. As he walked, the drummer pulled out his phone and called a cab.

Once outside, Brandon became restless and began pulling away from Dave’s hold. The guitarist was resilient though, and refused to let go of the singer’s arm. After struggling for a few minutes, Brandon slumped over on Dave’s shoulder.

“Davie,” he whined, “please let go.”

“You might wander off into the street,” Dave replied.

“Are you angry at me?” Ronnie didn't like where this was going.

“I'm annoyed with you- but not mad,” Brandon sighed deeply.

Everyone stood in a tense silence until the taxi arrived. The four piled in—Mark having to sit in the front with the driver. Brandon sat in the middle between Dave and Ronnie with his head resting on the drummer’s shoulder. The singer mumbled nonsense for most of the drive, but was quiet when he got the the hotel.

Unlike their experience in London, the band was able to comfortably pay for four rooms. The band hung out in Ronnie’s room for an hour before Dave and Mark decided to retire to their own. Just before he left, Dave told Ronnie to make sure that Brandon got to his bed safely—Ronnie agreed. Brandon sat on the edge of Ronnie’s bed and grinned at the drummer once they were alone; Ronnie somewhat reluctantly joined him.

Ronnie had no idea what Brandon was going to do—he was the drunkest Ronnie had seen him in quite him some time. The singer flashed Ronnie his toothy smile but the drummer still wasn't positive that Brandon wasn't going to do anything regrettable.

“You should get to bed,” Ronnie said, “we have that interview tomorrow and if you don't sleep soon you're going to hate yourself in the morning.”

Brandon looked disappointed, “but I wanna spend time with you.”

The drummer sighed, “I know, but you need to go to sleep. We can hang out tomorrow.”

Brandon furrowed his brow as he weighed out his options. “But,” he slipped his hand in between the drummer’s legs and squeezed his inner thigh. “I wanna hang out with you,” almost immediately, Ronnie grabbed the singer’s hand and led it away from his person. He then stood abruptly and took a step away from the bed.

“No no no no no no no,” he chanted. “Brandon, you're wasted. Go to bed.” The drummer’s words were harsh, causing the singer to look to the ground, saddened. Ronnie felt bad for the boy—it wasn't like it was Brandon knew what he was doing. Ronnie had to make sure that he didn't do anything that would cause further pain in the morning. “Why don't I take you to your room?”

Brandon stared at the floor, still distressed.

“Brandon, please,” Ronnie spoke softly. Brandon screwed his eyes shut and put his head in his hands. “Oh no, Brandon don't-”

“I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry,” the singer looked up to Ronnie, revealing his tear stained cheeks, “I fucked up.”

The drummer returned to his spot on the bed and gave the crying man a hug from the side, “no you didn't. You're just tired and confused and you need to go to bed.”

Brandon sniffled, “can I stay with you?”

Ronnie melted and held the boy tighter, “God yes, Brandon. You'll always have a place with me. Why don't you change so we can go to bed?”

Brandon had stopped crying but his cheeks were still red and wet, “I don't have my bag.”

“That’s okay! You can borrow one of my shirts,” Ronnie pressed a soft kiss to Brandon’s temple, “I’ll be back.” The drummer left but swiftly returned with one of his plain black V-necks. Brandon already had his off-white jacket off and struggled to unbutton his black undershirt with shaking hands. Instead of waiting, Ronnie decided to help the singer by unbuttoning the shirt from the bottom up. Their hands met in the middle and Ronnie proceed to help Brandon pull the shirt off and gave him its replacement. After pulling the oversized shirt on, Brandon crawled back into the bed. Ronnie turned out the light, made sure the door was locked, then joined Brandon. The two were facing each other—it reminded Ronnie of the night he found the singer in the floor of his kitchen. As if he could read his mind, Brandon spoke.

“Will you sing to me?” Just like the last time he was in this position, Ronnie sang whatever came to his mind first.

“Someone must have loved you

Not the way that I do...

You're missing what I'm trying to say

Ain't nothing getting in my way...”

 

 

Ronnie woke to a loud banging at his door. Dave.

The night before, Ronnie had not realized that Dave would go to check on Brandon in the morning. He imagined that it would have been a  very rude awakening when the guitarist went to the younger man’s room to find it untouched.

Ronnie shook Brandon awake and urged him to look lively. The singer rubbed his eyes and groaned from the massive ache in his head before slowly throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Dave was tired of waiting.

“Ronnie, open the damn door!”

Ronnie helped Brandon up and led him to the small dining table in the room, “I can't do that right now, man. I don't have any pants on,” Ronnie was lying about the pants.

“So? This is important, you ape!”

The drummer pretended to act offended, “and my dick is out! Give me a sec!”  After insuring that Brandon looked as awake as a hungover man could be, he headed for the door. “What's up?” He asked once he opened it.

“What’s up? Brandon is-”

“Right here,” Ronnie motioned to the tired man at the table.

Dave stood dumbfounded for a moment, “how long has he been there?”

The drummer shrugged, “he’s been hanging with me since this morning.”

“Didn't you say you didn't have your pants on?” Fuck—a hole in his lie.

“Umm… I was in the bathroom.”

“You take your pants off when you go the bathroom?”

“I was in the shower!”

“Your hair isn't wet.” Why was Dave so persistent?

“Hairdryers exist, Dave. Look it up!” The guitarist stared at Ronnie, confused by his outburst.

“Okay… make sure you two get to the interview on time. Mark and I are going to handle some business.”

“We’ll see you there!” Dave nodded awkwardly at Ronnie before looking past him and waved to Brandon.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Brandon smiled and nodded to the guitarist, which made his headache worsen. Dave said goodbye to the drummer and left—that was a close one. Ronnie turned back to the singer who was resting his head on the table.

“Was your dick really out?” Brandon mumbled, not looking up.

Ronnie chuckled, “no.” He pulled a seat up next to the boy and sat, “I just said that so he wouldn't suspect anything.”

Brandon made eye contact with the drummer, but did not move. “You didn't want Dave to come in and see us in bed… so you told him that your dick was out?”

Ronnie scoffed, “he didn't know you were in here!” Brandon smiled and closed his eyes, humming softly. Ronnie thought he looked adorable, but interrupted his bliss, “so… you do remember last night?” Brandon smirked.

“How could I forget?”

“Well,” Ronnie said, “I never know what to think when your alter-ego takes over.”

Brandon lifted his head and stretched, “he’s a menace to society.” It worried Ronnie how lax Brandon had become concerning his drinking. He thought back to the month that he had stayed with the singer for the sole purpose of keeping Brandon sober. After Brandon was clean for a month Ronnie surprised him with two new records—a Pet Shop Boys compilation album and the David Bowie album that had come out earlier that year. Ronnie wasn't able to decide between the two so he got both—he was proud of Brandon, afterall. His heart ached when he remembered the look on the singer’s face when he unwrapped his presents. Ronnie decided that he would try to help Brandon again after the tour was over. Even when the band got small breaks every now and then, it felt like he had not been home in years. He wanted to go back to his apartment and his bed. Ronnie realized that when he thought of such things he thought of Brandon’s apartment—not the house that he had been sharing with a few other men.

“When will the tour be over?” He asked.

Brandon sighed, “a few months. We’ll be home for good in October.”

Ronnie groaned, “That isn't a few months, B. That’s a lifetime. I wanna sleep in my bed for once.”

“You mean our bed?” Ronnie looked at Brandon in surprise. For some reason, he hadn’t expected to move in with Brandon even though he basically already had.

“You mean it?”

The singer rolled his eyes, “of course—I'm your fucking boyfriend. You already live with me anyway.” Ronnie stared at Brandon blankly—mostly because of the boyfriend part. And the fucking part. A combination of both, really.

“Fucking?” Brandon stared at him and said nothing. “Fucking boyfriend? The boyfriend who I fuck?”

“I thought you liked me for my humor—Ronnie, I'm hurt.” Brandon was beaming through his facade.

“Yes, but, fuck?” The singer laughed, hangover seemingly gone in an unnatural time.

“Stop saying fuck.”

“Fuck?” Ronnie continued, smile growing wider.

“Well,” Brandon stood cast his eyes down to Ronnie, who suddenly felt very small and turned on. “You’ll have to work for it.” Jesus—who was this new man Ronnie was talking to and what did he do with Brandon?

“Oh? What can I do for you, darling?” The singer put a hand on his hip and pondered for a moment. Next he pulled Ronnie to his level from the collar of his shirt.

With their faces so close Ronnie wanted to close the gap between them, but Brandon spoke, “You can take me to the Waffle House I saw down the street.”

Ronnie chuckled and pressed a short but deep kiss to the singer’s lips, “you really are a waffle slut.”

  

“So,” a cheery interviewer said, “how was the Grammys?” The four Killers and a woman by the name of Deborah Sheen were crammed in a small room which resembled a studio. The radio program they were on was called The Sheen Show and Brandon didn't really understand why they were there—it wasn't like this was a prestigious show. The interview went fine though; when asked about a new album, Brandon teased that they would be premiering a new song at Glastonbury within a couple of months. They talked about the other festivals they would be playing at later in the year and the closing shows of their tour. Brandon began to understand the restlessness that Ronnie felt- he did want the tour to be over. Before Brandon could dwell on it too much, Deborah asked another question, “I almost forgot! Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! Do any of you have a special lady?” Brandon nervously opened and closed his mouth and saw Ronnie staring from the corner of his eye.

“No,” Ronnie said, “none of us have any ladies.” The drummer was smirking—Brandon assumed it was because he was technically telling the truth. Brandon stayed silent for the rest of the interview.

 

Later that night Brandon found himself alone with Ronnie in the older man’s room. The other two Killers had already retired to their beds, hoping to get a couple more hours of sleep before they went back to touring. Tomorrow would be the last day they stayed at the hotel because it was Ronnie’s birthday. Then and there, Brandon realized he had forgotten to get Ronnie anything. As he was thinking of quick gifts to get the drummer, Ronnie entered from the bathroom with a small box.

“I got you something earlier,” he said, “y’know, since it’s Valentine's Day. Don't worry about getting me anything—I know it was short notice.” Ronnie sat the box on the table and pushed it towards Brandon before taking a seat across from him.

“That didn't stop you,” Brandon took the box and slowly peeked in. It was a simple bracelet, made of braided black leather with a silver clasp on one end. It was the most basic thing the singer had ever seen, but knowing that Ronnie had picked it out with him in mind made the boy ache.

“I love it… but I still didn't get you anything. I'm a terrible boyfriend.”

“No—I don't want anything. Don't worry about it. I just saw it and I thought of you, there is no need to get me anything. And you aren't just my boyfriend-” Brandon looked at Ronnie, confused. “-you're my fucking boyfriend.” The singer laughed, but it also gave him an idea. While it may not of solved the situation at hand, Brandon had just thought of something for Ronnie’s birthday.

Brandon hoped that Ronnie liked surprises.

 

 

 

**Chapter VII: _If You Can Keep a Secret, I Can Keep a Secret_**

 

 

If Brandon's plan was going to work he had to get Ronnie out of the picture for the day—it was a surprise, after all. So, after breakfast, the singer thought of a small lie ("I'm going to the store to get a new pack of cigarettes. Do you want anything?") and found himself alone for the first time in what felt like weeks. Brandon felt a little guilty for abandoning Ronnie on his birthday, but the drummer's gifts would make up for it.

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, Brandon stumbled upon a liquor store. As he entered, a bell above the door chimed and a man at the front counter grimaced at him.

"Are you of age, punk?" Brandon thought the situation was laughable considering he was on national television two days earlier.

"I'm twenty-three," Brandon said. The man grumbled and let the singer continue. Brandon made his way to the part of the store where the wine was kept and scanned the shelves. He didn't remember what it was called, but he was looking for the one that Ronnie had bought him on their first plane ride. The singer did know, however, that it was a red wine with a fancy white label. It couldn't have cost that much though, considering Ronnie bought it for fifteen dollars on a plane. Just when he was about to give up, Brandon spotted a familiar bottle.

When Brandon returned to the counter, the man at the cash register spoke again, "What kind of twenty-three year old buys red wine on a Sunday?" Brandon was starting to become very annoyed with this man.

"Listen-" Brandon peered to the man's name-tag. "-Steve, today is my boyfriend's birthday and I didn't get him anything for Valentine's Day. Mind your own damn business." Steve stared at Brandon blankly as he took the singer's money.

"You trying to get some dick tonight, kid?" Brandon stood in shock before snatching the paper bag that held his bottle from the other man. "It's a yes, then."

Brandon rushed out of the store, "YOU KNOW TOO MUCH!" He yelled.

Steve chuckled as the bell signalling Brandon's absence ringed, "Yeah I do. Wait! You forgot your receipt!"

When Brandon arrived back at the hotel, he went to his room instead of Ronnie's. He hid the wine in one of the bags and retrieved a cheap, pink laptop from another. It wasn't anything fancy, but it got the job done. The singer sat on his bed with it and began his research, making sure the volume was at the lowest it could be.

 

That night when Brandon returned to Ronnie's room, the drummer was confused.

"You were gone all day, Brandon. Where were you?" Brandon felt even more guilty about leaving, but pushed that feeling away.

"Well, I didn't just get cigarettes today. I got you a present, too." If Ronnie had been angry with the singer, the feeling was gone.

Ronnie grinned, "you didn't have to do that, Brandon-"

"No! I had to! It's your birthday! Your twenty-ninth one, too. That's a special one."

Brandon sat next to Ronnie on the bed with the bag that held the drummer's present. The singer held it out to the older man, who reluctantly took it.

"I don't see how twenty-nine is special but whatever floats your boat, I guess." Ronnie peaked inside the bag and stared in shock. He slowly pulled out the bottle, wondering how Brandon had managed to get the exact one they had shared years earlier. "How many stores did you go to?"

"Just one," Brandon replied, "but I was given Hell from the man who worked there." The singer stood again and found two wine glasses in a cupboard next to the fridge. As he returned to the bed Ronnie uncorked the bottle and poured a glass for the both of them.

Before taking a sip, Brandon raised his glass in the air. "To you, Mr. Vannucci," he said.

Ronnie copied the singer, "To us." They clinked their glasses and raised them to their lips.

As they sat there sipping on their wine, Ronnie felt Brandon's eyes on him. It could have been the soft burn of wine sliding down his throat and settling in his stomach, but Ronnie was certain Brandon's gaze was making him feel warm. Brandon had only take a sip or two from his glass and for Brandon that meant something must have really been on his mind if he wasn't drinking as fast as usual.

After a more few moments of quiet banter and occasional flirting, Brandon turned around and put his wine glass on the nightstand. Once he was facing Ronnie again, he spoke up, "So, the wine… wasn't your only birthday present."

"Really?" Ronnie questioned.

Brandon nodded, "There's another one I had planned… a surprise."

"Well," Ronnie's heart started racing, "what is it?"

With a smirk, Brandon gently took the wine glass out of Ronnie's hand and placed it next to his own on the nightstand. When he turned back around to face Ronnie, he gave the drummer a soft kiss. Although the touch was gentle, he waited several moments before pulling away. As he moved away from Ronnie's face, he studied every beautiful inch of the man's intense and defined features. Soon, their lips were touching again. They continued to kiss each other softly, but Ronnie kept smiling against Brandon's lips.

"What are you so giddy about," Brandon murmured against Ronnie's lips before kissing him again.

"You make me so happy," Ronnie replied before running a hand through Brandon's hair once. Brandon's heart melted.

"You're so corny," Brandon was now smiling against their soft kisses.

Brandon's hands traveled from the soft fabric of the bed's comforter to the hem of Ronnie's t-shirt. Ronnie understood and lifted his arms up for a moment so that Brandon could take his shirt off. Once the shirt was discarded, Brandon returned to the kiss with more intensity. Their tongues were sliding against each other as they moved in unison. Brandon's hands soon found their way to Ronnie's chest and Ronnie moved his own hands to Brandon's head, guiding his movements. Ronnie still didn't know what Brandon's full intentions were but just kissing the boy like this excited him enough.

Brandon repositioned himself so that his knees were on either side of Ronnie's thighs, giving him easier access to Ronnie's body. Brandon then moved from Ronnie's lips to Ronnie's neck where began to leave soft kisses. Ronnie sighed and a smile spread across his face as he dropped his hands from Brandon's head to the singer's lower back. Soon, the singer was leaving open-mouthed, sloppy kisses down his skin of the drummer's neck. Brandon eventually made his way to Ronnie's chest. Excited by the soft hums and sighs he was eliciting from Ronnie, the younger boy smiled against the Ronnie's skin.

Brandon shifted himself down so that his kisses were now trailing down Ronnie's middle. As he made his way down the drummer's middle, Ronnie felt his stomach flip—he figured out what Brandon was planning.

"Brandon," Ronnie breathed, "you don't have to if you're not ready."

"Shhh," Brandon said in between gentle descending kisses, "this is your birthday present."

"You sure?"

Brandon's lips had made their way to just above the hem of Ronnie's jeans, "Positive."

Brandon pulled away from Ronnie's body and looked him the eye, where he was met with a lustful gaze that bordered on desperation. Brandon smirked slightly, reveling in the fact that just kissing Ronnie's body made the older man so excited.

Brandon shifted his gaze down to Ronnie's bulge. It wasn't until he reached for Ronnie's belt that Brandon noticed his hands were shaking slightly. After all, he was nervous. Brandon quickly reflected on the time he was nervous about making out with Ronnie and how that turned out just fine. Hell, it turned out amazing. But this was different, Brandon had never done this before. This wasn't kissing, this was much more. But, like he said, this was Ronnie's birthday gift. And Brandon had watched more than a few videos so how bad could it go? If it went horribly wrong, he'd hate himself forever and never show his face again.

If it went right, however….

Brandon undid Ronnie's belt buckle and watched as Ronnie propped himself up on his elbows. Brandon hooked his fingers under the hem of his jeans and slowly pulled them down before discarding them to the side of the bed. Brandon unconsciously bit his lip as he stared at the bulge in the drummer's boxer briefs. Brandon's mouth was hanging open ever so slightly as he curled his fingers underneath the waistband of Ronnie's underwear. Ronnie kept his eyes on Brandon's face as the singer pulled the fabric down. Ronnie could tell he was nervous, but the way Brandon looked when he laid eyes on Ronnie's dick proved that he was also just as excited as he was nervous. Brandon pulled the underwear down to the drummer's thighs.

Okay so… Ronnie was slightly bigger than he thought, and Brandon started to get nervous again. He was definitely going to fuck this up. He must have looked as scared as he felt because Ronnie spoke up.

"Brandon please, you really don't have to."

"Ron, I really want to." He ended the statement by taking Ronnie in his hand, making the drummer swear under his breath and tilt his head back a little. Brandon immediately felt his heart jump when he watched Ronnie react to the simple touch. This was going to be exciting.

Brandon started stroking Ronnie slowly, ensuring that he didn't finish things as soon as they started. Ronnie was breathing heavily now, occasionally letting a soft "Brandon" escape his lips. Brandon ran his thumb over Ronnie's slit, drawing a deep groan from the drummer. Brandon decided he had teased Ronnie long enough. He kept his hand on Ronnie's shaft as he leaned his head down and licked the tip slowly.

"Oh god," Ronnie moaned and brought his head forward to watch, "Brandon...."

Brandon continued to give tentative licks to his tip while he stroked. Brandon stayed like this for a few moments; he wanted to get used to the action before taking Ronnie in any more. Ronnie obviously didn't mind—the longer this lasted the better.

After a little bit, Brandon moved his hand to the base of Ronnie's dick and wrapped his lips around it, keeping his tongue on the underside of Ronnie's shaft as he slowly descended. Ronnie groaned deep and low; it took all of his willpower to not buck up into the boy's mouth. Brandon continued to stroke what his mouth didn't cover as he bobbed his head up and down. A stream of soft moans were spilling out of Ronnie's mouth now, which rose Brandon's confidence. Therefore, Brandon felt daring. He'd seen enough videos, it was time to try something. After all, it was Ronnie's birthday.

Brandon pulled his hand away from Ronnie's dick and looked Ronnie in the eyes as he slowly made his way down his shaft. Brandon's goal was just to go as far as he could without choking, but when he felt Ronnie hit the back of his throat he didn't gag like he thought he would have. He was probably too distracted by the way Ronnie's chest was rising and falling as he watched Brandon take him in completely.

Ronnie moaned loud and low. "Brandon, oh god," he panted. The drummer sat up more so that he was supporting himself with one palm flat on the bed while the other made its way to Brandon's hair. Brandon loved the way he made Ronnie feel by doing that, but his gag reflex soon became conscious of the dick in throat. He hollowed out his cheeks and slid back up Ronnie's length (another thing he learned from a video) before he embarrassed himself.

Brandon popped off Ronnie for a moment to catch his breath. He continued to stroke him as he breathed heavily.

"Holy shit," Ronnie sighed, "where did you learn how to do that?"

Brandon answered truthfully, "Some videos." Ronnie actually chuckled out loud at the boy's honesty.

Once Brandon caught his breath, he wrapped his lips around Ronnie once more. Brandon found it easier than he thought. He was able to continue moving up and down for awhile. Brandon actually thought it was really fun. He used to wonder how people would enjoy giving head as much as they enjoyed receiving it. But now he knew: it was so exhilarating to make someone feel that good. Brandon continued stroking and bobbing his head for a few more minutes, soaking in all the delicious noises Ronnie was making. He felt so lucky that he was the only one who could hear him and make him feel like that.

He knew Ronnie was close from the way he was slightly bucking into Brandon's mouth—not enough to gag the boy, but enough to be noticeable. When Brandon hollowed out his cheeks again, Ronnie whined and unconsciously pulled on Brandon's hair. Brandon moaned around Ronnie, sending shockwaves through the drummer's body as he whined under Brandon's touch.

"Bran-Brandon, I'm gonna come." Brandon had definitely impressed him tonight, but he still felt a need to warn the boy.

Brandon listened to Ronnie, but he continued unfazed. If anything, he picked up the speed of his hand as he started to loll his tongue around Ronnie's leaking tip. Remembering the reaction it created last time, Brandon moaned around Ronnie once more. Ronnie's grip on Brandon's hair tightened and a stream of swears and syllables that vaguely sounded like "Brandon" came out of his mouth. The familiar feeling in Ronnie's lower body was flaring up.

"I'm gonna-oh, Brandon! Bran-" Ronnie was interrupted by a small gasp, followed by a long moan as he released into Brandon's mouth. The arm he was supporting himself on was wobbling slightly and he was trying to catch his breath. He'd been with other guys, but none of them made him feel like that.

Ronnie was surprised that Brandon didn't choke or gag, and even more surprised that Brandon didn't run off to the bathroom to spit the come out of his mouth. Instead, Brandon pulled off of Ronnie, screwed his eyes shut, and put a closed fist to his mouth as he swallowed. It was fucking amazing to Ronnie that Brandon could look adorable doing such an obscene thing.

Ronnie let himself fall backward onto the bed as he tried to catch his breath, "Holy shit, Brandon. What kind of videos are you watching?"

Brandon did his ridiculous laugh. After a few moments the younger boy spoke up softly with a slightly hoarse voice, "So, it was good?"

"Good?," Ronnie scoffed, "Jesus, I'm trying to figure out if that was another dream. It was more than good, Brandon."

"Another dream?" Brandon questioned with a cheeky smirk, "you've dreamt about me doing that stuff to you?"

Ronnie blushed and pulled his underwear up, "Oh, fuck off."

"Hey," Brandon was laughing, "I never said it was a bad thing." He lowered his voice and added, "And I mean… I've had some about you, you know." Just when Ronnie's heartbeat had began to slow down, the thought of Brandon having dirty dreams about it brought it back to an alarming pace.

Brandon got up to grab a pair of sweatpants for the drummer out of Ronnie's suitcase. When he walked back to the bed, he threw the pants on Ronnie's torso that was still rising and falling heavily. Ronnie eventually sat up and put  on the sweats; that's when he finally got a good look at Brandon since they had finished.

"Brandon," Ronnie chuckled, "you're as hard as a rock." Brandon looked defeated.

"Well, yeah. I figured I would just wait 'til it went away so we could go to sleep. Or I can take care of myself in the bathroom."

Ronnie scoffed, "you think I'm gonna let you deepthroat me and then go sadly jerk yourself off alone in the bathroom?"

"I just-" Brandon said frustratedly, "I'm not... really—I'm not comfortable with you seeing me… naked." The room fell silent before Brandon continued in a softer, sadder voice, "I just kinda figured I would wait for it to go away. But then I started imagining you having dreams about me and the thought is in my head now and-and I just can't help it! I knew if you noticed you'd want to do something about it—and I really want you to—but I just… I'm scared."

Ronnie sat up completely and gently wrapped his hand around the singer's, "Brandon, you have nothing to be scared about. You're so beautiful." Brandon just looked at the floor and stroked Ronnie's thumb with his own.

"Look, I know you've had trouble with your appearance for a while but listen to me when I say that you are so, so gorgeous. And I'm not just saying this because you're my boyfriend; everyone thinks you're beautiful. If I had a dollar for every time I saw someone checking you out at the bar I-"

"But how do I know they aren't looking at me because they think I'm gross."

Ronnie's heart broke a little, "Because  you're Brandon. You have this… presence about you. And, God, I wish you just knew how incredible you are. It's beautiful—you're beautiful! And I feel so unworthy of you I can't believe you chose me to be yours," Ronnie stopped for a second and tried to read the singer's reaction, "And if it makes you feel any better I already saw you shirtless last night when you were piss drunk. I literally had to take your shirt off for you, so we basically already got to second base."

Brandon laughed suddenly and the drummer smirked. The mood was lightened, but there was still a lingering sense of tension.

"So," Ronnie continued, "if you don't want me to...help you out I won't. But I never, ever want you to believe that I wouldn't want to because you think I don't find you attractive."

Brandon looked at him with soft and loving eyes, "I'm so lucky to have you."

Brandon let go of Ronnie's hand and took a step away from the bed. Ronnie figured Brandon was going to the bathroom and he felt like he had failed. But then, Brandon crossed his arms, put his hands on the hem of his beloved Rolling Stones t-shirt, and slowly took it off.

Ronnie smiled wide and leaned back, enjoying the sight in front of him, "You're so beautiful, B." Brandon blushed and Ronnie just wanted to kiss him.

Brandon's hands went to his jeans where he slowly undid his belt before tossing it behind him. He hooked his thumb under the hem of his jeans and hesitantly pushed them down to his shins where he then kicked them off to the side.

Ronnie started chuckling and Brandon was  about to reach for his clothes to redress himself when he realized Ronnie was laughing at his boxer briefs—they were purple with white hearts.

"Those are adorable," Ronnie said in between giggles.

"Shut up, they're comfy." Brandon smiled but when he realized there was only one layer left he felt nervous, "Can I keep these on for now?"

"Of course, baby," Ronnie said softly. Brandon felt his face get warm at the small pet name. "C'mere," Ronnie patted his lap.

Brandon climbed onto the bed and straddled Ronnie's hips, suddenly feeling very exposed. He was about to cover his stomach but he was quick to stop himself. Instead, he gently rested his hands on Ronnie's stomach as he looked the drummer deep in the eyes. Ronnie eyed the obvious bulge in Brandon's briefs and felt his heart begin to race again. He placed his hands on Brandon's thighs and began running them up and down. Brandon relaxed his body with a sigh—he hadn't even realized how tense he was until Ronnie's touch soothed him.

"You doin' alright, baby?" Ronnie asked, noticing Brandon's initial stiffness. Brandon nodded and smiled bashfully. He wasn't used to being called that but he loved it. He could hear Ronnie say it all day and never get tired of it.

Ronnie didn't want to do anything that would make Brandon insecure, but they were in this position for a reason. Ronnie put his hand on the bulge of Brandon's briefs, causing the singer to gasp. Ronnie positioned his thumb right on the underside of the outline as he moved his palm up and down Brandon's shaft. Brandon found himself pushing against the pressure, desperate for more friction. Brandon was about to let out a moan when he bit his lip to silence it instead. He moved his hands so that they were planted on Ronnie's chest, using him for support.

Ronnie kept guiding his hand along Brandon's aching hard-on, soaking in the sight of Brandon biting his lip and pushing against Ronnie's hand. After a few minutes of gentle touching and little gasps, Ronnie moved his hand away from Brandon's bulge and made his way to the waistband of his underwear. He slipped a finger underneath it and looked to Brandon's expression to see if what he was doing was okay. Brandon nodded eagerly, making Ronnie smile.

Ronnie slid his hand into Brandon's briefs and finally took the boy into his hand. Brandon's lip hardly muffled the moan that escaped him.

"Baby," Ronnie said softly as he gently stroked Brandon, "don't worry about being quiet. I wanna hear you." Brandon let his lip fall from the grip of his teeth and his mouth was parted open slightly. Ronnie rubbed his thumb over Brandon's slit, evoking a short whine from the younger boy.

Brandon's main focus was not coming too soon. He'd been embarrassingly hard ever since Ronnie's dick was in his mouth and now that he was being properly touched, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold out for. Every drag of Ronnie's hand felt like a spark shooting through his body. And this whole "baby" thing wasn't helping either.

If things couldn't get any worse, Ronnie brought his other hand around to Brandon's ass and grabbed it as he continued to stroke Brandon. Brandon whimpered as soon as Ronnie gripped him and the drummer couldn't get enough of the noises he was making.

Ronnie kept kneading Brandon through the fabric of his briefs and listened to the filthy noises coming from his mouth. Ronnie had definitely been proven wrong: the other night in the broom closet—the alcohol was not making Brandon more responsive, it was actually making him less responsive. Ronnie loved how vocal Brandon was and how even the simplest touch could elicit a gasp from the boy.

Brandon's breath was shaky and his moans wavered in his throat. Unconsciously, Brandon was thrusting haphazardly into Ronnie's grip now. Ronnie knew that Brandon was close and hoped the boy wouldn't feel embarrassed if he finished early. Ronnie watched as Brandon's thighs began to shake and his mouth was hanging open—he wanted to kiss him more than anything.

Ronnie repositioned the two of them so that Ronnie was sitting up with Brandon on his lap as Ronnie continued stroking Brandon with one hand and moved the other to the back of Brandon's head. Brandon's hands were on Ronnie's back, slightly digging his nails into the skin. Their foreheads were touching now and Brandon's hot breath was against Ronnie's lips. Ronnie broke the distance between them and crashed their lips together. Ronnie slipped his tongue out to lick along the singer's bottom lip before guiding it into Brandon's mouth to slide against his own. As Brandon grew closer with every stroke, he began to make more frequent noises against Ronnie's mouth.

Ronnie pulled away from Brandon's mouth and admired how red and plump they looked. He moved his lips so that they were right next to Brandon's ear and Brandon shivered slightly.

"Come for me, baby," Ronnie whispered. He closed his demand by gentle biting Brandon's earlobe and tugging on it before pulling away completely.

"Oh god, Ron," Brandon's moans were desperate now, "Ron please."

Ronnie moved away from the side of Brandon's face so he could look at the singer's face again. There was no way Ronnie was going to wait this long to have Brandon in this position and not see what his O-Face looked like. Ronnie and Brandon made eye contact as Ronnie picked up the pace of his hand.

"Ron..Ronnie… oh, oh god, I'm—!" Brandon's eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed as he gasped a final time and spilled over Ronnie's fingers and his briefs. Ronnie felt Brandon's nails dig into his skin and drag down as he let out a string of moans. Ronnie worked Brandon through his climax, slowing down his strokes and the boy caught his breath.

Completely exhausted, Brandon's body slumped forward and they were touching foreheads again. Ronnie chuckled, "You good, B?"

"Yeah, I-" Brandon swallowed and took a few breaths before continuing, "I'm sorry that didn't take very long."

"Shhh," Ronnie hushed him before he could apologize any more, "it's okay. You were amazing, baby, it was so hot. And you can't help the fact that having my dick in your mouth turned you on so much beforehand."

"Shut up", Brandon chuckled breathlessly, "you're the one who's still holding onto my dick." Ronnie moved his hand away from Brandon's aforementioned penis.

"Touché" Ronnie said before pulling away from Brandon's forehead and standing up, "Now, let's clean up and sleep for sixteen hours straight."

In the bathroom, Ronnie washed his hands and Brandon changed into clean underwear.

"Oh," Ronnie said as he reached for the towel and looked at Brandon's new briefs, "those ones don't have a cute pattern."

"Sorry, I left my ones with palm trees on them at home." Ronnie laughed and then Brandon gave him a look that told Ronnie he wasn't joking.

"Oh my god," Brandon said in a concerned voice, "your back. I'm sorry." Ronnie was confused and then turned around to peek over his shoulder and into the mirror. His eyes were met with a handful of red scratches lining his upper back.

"Holy shit," Ronnie muttered, "that's really hot."

"Doesn't it hurt, though?" Brandon's hands grazed just beneath one of the scratches.

"I didn't notice them, did I? And now I get to carry a reminder of this night around for a few days." Ronnie winked at Brandon and Brandon blushed. "Let's go to bed, baby," Brandon grabbed Ronnie's outstretched hand and followed him back into the bedroom. On the short way to the  bed, Brandon let go of his hand to search through Ronnie's bag briefly and pull out a t-shirt before putting it on.

"You have a whole bag of your own clothes, you know." Ronnie said from the bed.

"You're just mad because I look better in your clothes than you do," Brandon said as he crawled under the covers and joined Ronnie.

"Again, touché." Ronnie was on his back and his left arm was outstretched to welcome the singer. Brandon was lying so that his right cheek was on Ronnie's chest as Ronnie wrapped his arm around Brandon's body.

"Goodnight, B."

"Goodnight… hey, Ronnie, can I ask you something?

"Of course."

"You really love my ass, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And my lips."

"Yeah."

"I could tell. Goodnight, Ron. Happy Birthday."

Ronnie kissed Brandon's head, "Thank you. Goodnight, baby."

 

The next day brought the beginning of the final leg of the tour and the start of the biggest secret Ronnie or Brandon would ever have to keep. When Ronnie woke up that morning Brandon wasn't next to him like he usually was. Confused, he got dressed and hurried to Brandon's room. He knocked softly and after a few moments he heard the singer's voice.

"Dave?"

"No," Ronnie replied through the door. "It's me." Ronnie heard the singer curse softly from inside the room. After another moment the door opened, revealing Brandon with puffy eyes and a wet face. Ronnie immediately melted and rushed inside, closing the door behind him.

"Baby, what happened?" Ronnie hugged the singer before taking his hand and leading him to the bed.

"Nothing," Brandon sniffled and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm fine."

Ronnie cupped Brandon's cheek with one of his hands and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb, "Please don't lie to me." This was Brandon's breaking point. The singer took Ronnie's hand and held it tightly as he began to sob again.

"S-Someone's gonna f-find out, Ron."  Oh. So that was what Brandon was upset about.

"We just need to be careful, that's all," the drummer spoke quietly in the hopes of calming Brandon down. He had never actually seen the singer like this when he was sober, so Ronnie made a point to be extra gentle. "And if someone does find out, it'll be alright. I don't care if the whole world knows how I feel about you." They sat like that until Brandon had calmed down enough for them to leave. Before exiting the privacy of Brandon's room, Ronnie pressed one last kiss to the singer's forehead.

 

Months passed and before Ronnie knew it, he was in Europe and it was June. Brandon's birthday was in June. Upon asking what the singer would want for his birthday, Brandon turned Ronnie down, stating that the bracelet he had gotten for Valentine's Day was enough and that they were now even. So, when the big day came, the band took the day off and actually put effort into making Brandon's twenty-fourth special. Since they were in a bus they couldn't get him a cake, but the singer did receive a cupcake that the band had gotten at some bakery. Brandon also got treated to breakfast at some café. To his dismay, the staff had been told it was his birthday and he was forced to sit through the restaurant singing to him. The only enjoyable part had been when Dave sang "Happy Birthday, dear waffle slut" instead of the singer's name.

That night, the band went to a bar to celebrate. As expected, Brandon got drunk, but the band allowed it because is was his birthday, after all. Due to this, at one point in the night when all eyes were off the couple, Brandon lead Ronnie to the restroom. When Ronnie asked why they were going, Brandon replied with a slurred "It's somebody's birthday somewhere." There, in one of the cramped stalls, the two participated in a particularly steamy make-out session—this was the highlight of Ronnie's night.

The band took it slow for the next few days. Just four days after Brandon's birthday they were scheduled to play at Glastonbury. The only event of interest was when the band accidentally left Dave at a gas station, but everything was fine. Dave was fine.

The day of Glastonbury Brandon felt particularly nervous. Not about the show, though—about his relationship. There had been many close calls while on the road, and keeping the secret was killing Brandon. On a whim, he found himself outside of Mark's dressing room. He could trust Mark, right? And Mark was already a quiet person- Mark could keep a secret. Brandon raised his hand to knock on the door, but before his fist made contact it opened. Brandon quickly put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side.

"Mark," Brandon exclaimed, "what a coincidence seeing you here!"

"Oh, were you looking for Dave?" Mark's voice was deep and intimidating to anyone who didn't know him.

"Nope!" Brandon said, "I was looking for you!" They stared at each other for a moment before Mark moved aside.

"Do you want to come in?" Brandon nodded eagerly and waltzed in, plopping himself down on the couch.

"I wanted to tell you about something—you can't tell Dave." Mark sat across from him and listened intently to what the singer had to say. "So... It's about Ronnie and I." Mark nodded and urged for Brandon to continue. "We've... been in a secret relationship since February." The singer rushed the last part.

All Mark said was "Oh." Oh? Mark must of hated Brandon. Fuck. Why did he think that this was a good idea. "I know." What? What? What? What?

"What?"

Mark chuckled (a rare sight) at Brandon, "I already knew- you don't need to be worried."

"What?"

"Brandon, it was kind of obvious."

"Oh." Did this mean that Dave already knew as well?

The bassist could read minds, "I don't think Dave knows, though. He tends to be oblivious to these things. I won't tell him, though."

"Well... thanks," Brandon stood and breathed a sigh of relief. "I need to get ready. Thanks for... being you." Brandon turned to leave but was stopped.

"Brandon? Congratulations." The singer beamed at Mark and scampered out of the room.

Their show that night went very well. The band unveiled a new song called All The Pretty Faces and played some other less well known songs—the crowd still ate it up. Time moved quickly after that—all that was between Brandon and going home was the final months. It was now July and the couple was becoming restless. With only a few moments of privacy in six months, it made sense. Brandon was excited for today, though. With Dave out of the picture and Mark cool with their antics, the singer was dying to get to the back of the bus with Ronnie.

Brandon saw Ronnie leaning against the bus and found his pace increase. As he approached the drummer his eyes darted around to make sure no one was there. Once Brandon had reached him, his stood on the balls of his feet and pulled the drummer's head towards his own, giving him a passionate kiss.

"Jesus, Brandon," Ronnie said once he was free from the singer's hold, "eager, aren't we?" Brandon giggled and took Ronnie's hand. With his other he flung the bus door open and led the drummer through the bus. Mark was sitting on the couch, intently reading a book. He didn't even notice his two bandmates walking to the back of the bus, but it didn't really matter now that he knew they were an item.

When Brandon reached the door to the bus' bedroom, he quickly opened it with his free hand and led Ronnie inside with the other. He kicked the door closed behind him before crawling onto the bed with the drummer. Ronnie was laying with his back against the headboard as he watched Brandon approach him.

"I've been waiting all day to get you alone," Brandon said through a smile as he straddled Ronnie's hips.

"Wow," Ronnie put his hands on Brandon's hips, "you need to get a more interesting life then."

"Shut up," Brandon put his hands on Ronnie's chest and planted a soft kiss to his lips, "I know you missed my lips." Ronnie closed the distance between them again and took Brandon's bottom lip in between his teeth.

He pulled for a second and once the singer whined he responded, "You bet I did."

Brandon stared at Ronnie for a second. He admired how he looked with his dark stubble slightly grown out—he wanted it against his skin. Brandon slipped his tongue into Ronnie's mouth with a whimper as he rolled his hips. He moved his hands to Ronnie's head where he let one of them gently tug on the drummer's hair. Ronnie's tongue darted out and licked Brandon's bottom lip, slightly plump from the bite he had given him.

Ronnie pulled away from the kiss for a second so that he could pull Brandon's t-shirt off. When he looked at the boy again, his bottom lip was in between his teeth. This emphasized the front tooth that hung down slightly more than the other. Ronnie would never admit it but he loved Brandon's teeth. In fact, he loved everything about Brandon's mouth. He loved everything about Brandon.

"God, you're so hot," Ronnie said unconsciously before returning to Brandon's lips. Brandon continued to grind his ass against Ronnie's growing hard-on as their kiss intensified. Brandon found himself panting occasionally against Ronnie's lips as he rutted against him.

Ronnie moved his lips to Brandon's ear where he whispered, "Just 'cause we have to be quiet doesn't mean we have to be gentle, baby." Brandon shivered and tugged Ronnie's hair as he continued to tease Ronnie by rolling his hips.

Ronnie moved his lips down Brandon's neck. Brandon felt the sting of Ronnie's stubble against his neck and he whined softly. He loved the way it scraped against his soft skin. He knew it'd be red and irritated which meant he'd have a short-lived reminder of this feeling. Brandon's fingers tightened in Ronnie's hair as Ronnie licked along a particularly sensitive spot.

"Ronnie," Brandon moaned breathlessly, "I-I need you to fuck me." Ronnie chuckled darkly against his skin.

"Well, if you ask so nicely, baby." Ronnie's hands moved from Brandon's hips to slide under the fabric of Brandon's tight jeans and briefs. Brandon moaned suddenly when Ronnie grabbed his ass and began to guide the singer's movements on him. Ronnie was now gently biting the skin of Brandon's neck. He bit hard enough to hurt but not enough to bruise. As much as Ronnie wanted the world to know Brandon was his, it would only cause drama if The Killers' supposedly-single lead singer was walking around with hickeys and love bites on his neck.

"You're mine, baby," Ronnie muttered against his skin.

"Oh god," Brandon breathed, "I'm all yours." Brandon removed his hands from Ronnie's head so that he could fumble with the drummer's belt.

Then, the door slammed open.

"Brandon, what ar- what the fuck."

Dave's voice from behind him sent a wave of pure panic through Brandon's body. In a vain attempt to make the scene more understandable, he immediately flew off Ronnie's lap. He ended up falling of the bed and landed hard on the floor. Really hard. But he was too terrified to notice the pain in his head.

"Shit, Dave listen-", Ronnie attempted to say something but there was truly no way to hide this.

"What the fuck," Dave repeated but he sounded more confused than the first time. He obviously knew what was happening: Brandon was shirtless and straddling Ronnie as Ronnie had his hands down Brandon's ass and sucked on his neck. But he still had no fucking clue what was happening.

"Dave," Brandon felt a lump in his throat, "please let us explain." He could have sworn he locked the door. How was he so stupid?

"What the fuck," Dave's hands were in fists at his sides and his voice was rising, "what the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck." Before the guys could explain a thing, Dave was continuing his mantra as he stormed out of the room and into the bus' lounge. "What the fuck?" Mark looked up from his book, unamused. "Did you know about this?"

Mark shrugged and looked back to his book, "I'm surprised you only just now found out." At this time, Brandon scrambled into the lounge with his shirt back on, but backwards.

"Dave, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't tell you-" There were tears in Brandon's eyes. Ronnie peered into the room, staying out of the spat.

"How long?" Dave was hurt, but not angry, "how long have you been keeping this from me?" Brandon didn't say anything, his eyes glistening as Ronnie wrapped an arm around his shoulder to comfort him. "Brandon," Dave said again, "how long?"

The singer took a shaky breath before speaking softly, "February." Brandon stared at the floor, not wanting to see the guitarist's reaction.

Mark decided it would be best if he excused himself from the conversation. He mumbled something about going to get dinner and left.

Ronnie didn't know what to say. In hindsight, they probably should of told Dave about their relationship.

"Don't you trust me?" Brandon, with small tears rolling down his cheeks, looked back up at Dave.

"I do! I was just... worried."

"Worried?" Dave's voice had become softer, "worried about what?" Brandon didn't need to say anything for Dave to understand. "Oh... You shouldn't be. It is a surprise, though." The guitarist chuckled and motioned to Ronnie, "I mean... you? We all knew about you. But Brandon?" Dave shook his head and put his hands on his hips, "I would've never guessed that Brandon Flowers liked dick!"

Ronnie burst out laughing. Brandon looked horrified.

He was happy, though. The singer found himself smiling with the other men, relieved that he no longer needed to keep secrets.

 

After Dave had found out, the final months passed in a heartbeat. It was finally October. They were finally home. Upon unlocking the door to his apartment Brandon immediately collapsed on the couch. Ronnie followed behind, chuckling.

"Don't you wanna get in bed?" The only response Ronnie got was a muffled groan. "Okay, well, you need to sit up so I can sit next to you." Brandon groaned again. "I am going to sit on you." Ronnie went to do just that when the phone rang. The drummer sighed and changed directions to pick up the phone. He had to stare at the number for a minute before realizing it was Dave—he wished that Brandon had caller ID.

"Hello? Dave?.... Brandon, Dave says hi.... He's also homeless- WHAT!" Brandon turned his head over and stared at Ronnie in confusion. "What do you mean you're homeless? People don't just go homeless overnight.... Well sorry I don't know anything about being homeless. Why don't you come over and we can talk about this?... Cool. I'll see you later—Dave? He hung up. Rude." Brandon sat up, giving Ronnie a spot next to him.

"How is Dave homeless?" Ronnie shrugged after he fell back onto the couch.

"Something about a bulldozer. He'll be here in twenty minutes." Brandon nodded.

"Poor Dave... do you think we have time to...?" The singer grinned and slipped a hand in between the drummer's thighs.

Ronnie grinned, "I thought you'd never ask."

After a quick session on the couch and an even quicker shower, Dave arrived. He looked pissed, but for good reason.

"Nothing's changed, I see," Dave said as he entered the apartment. "Well," he looked at Ronnie, "almost nothing."

"Anyway!" Brandon urged Dave to sit on the couch (Ronnie grimaced). "So, what's this I hear about a bulldozer?"

Dave sighed, "I dunno. I just went home and all that was there was a parking lot." The situation bewildered Brandon.

"You don't seem that upset," he said.

"Maybe it hasn't set in yet," Ronnie added. Dave glared at him.

"So," Brandon said carefully, "are you sure you went to the right place?"

Dave shut his eyes and took a deep breath, "Brandon," he said. "It was my fucking house."

"You called that thing a house?" Ronnie muttered, hoping Dave wouldn't hear.

"Did you call anyone? The manager? Maybe you should talk to the manager-"

"BRANDON!" Dave screeched, "MY APARTMENT AND EVERYTHING INSIDE IS GONE!" Brandon stared at Dave blankly.

"At least we've got money now...." Ronnie said.

Brandon clapped his hands together, "Why don't you stay with us!" Both Ronnie and Dave looked offended.

"I think I would rather live in a dumpster than live with you, Brandon." Brandon gasped.

"Dave! You! Are! Homeless!" Brandon was insisting on Dave staying with them- Ronnie groaned.

"Brandon... baby... how about we talk about this." Now it was Brandon's turn to look offended. Upon hearing the word "baby" a look of discomfort flashed across Dave's face.

"Dave is our guest, Ron. He stays."

"Well," Dave said. "Maybe I could stay with Mark-"

"Mark has a girlfriend!" Brandon yelled. "You can't!"

Ronnie butted in, "Maybe he could just get a hotel!" Even though Dave didn't want to stay, he was offended because Ronnie didn't want to let him stay. He was homeless, after all. The drummer noticed Dave's glare. "Dave, buddy, I love ya. I'm trying to help you."

"Dave, you're staying here. At least until you sue someone. Maybe a week or two at least." Dave sighed.

"I guess... I wouldn't want to encroach on you, though." Brandon grinned.

"It'll be like one long sleepover!" The singer exclaimed, excited at the idea of living with his boyfriend and best friend.

That was how Ronnie Vannucci's dream came true.


End file.
